The Battle of Britain

[Gunther]

[center][size="5"][b]29 July 1940[/b][/size][/center]


Another beautiful day and a guarantee Jerry will pay his usual visits. RAF Croydon was alive with its usual activity; morning PT, showers, dressing and breakfast. This morning however, the phone rang at 0700 hours. The call to scramble was sounded and ten Spitfires from Number 72 Squadron were airborne again.

By 0708 they were over their Initial Rally point and by 0715 they were over Dover. "Group wants us to loiter at thirty thousand feet now." Squadron Leader Henley spoke over the radio. "They say Jerry is using higher altitudes."

Within the next several minutes four other Squadrons joined 72 bringing the total of aircraft up to 55 RAF fighters. Finally just after 0730 hours a formation of 80+ German aircraft was spotted at 24,000 feet. The Germans approached in two waves. The first wave contained 20 Ju87 Stukas and 20 Bf109s. The second wave only fifteen minutes behind the first contained 20 Stukas and 20 Messerschmitts.

The RAF charged into the attack on the German aircraft. Henley and McSheffrey ripped into a diving Ju87 but its armor was a bit tough for the British Armaments. Some damage was inflicted, but not enough to take the stubborn dive bomber down.

Captain Henley and Flight Officer McSheffrey banked right, reduced their throttles to 50% using their dive to maintain air speed. They came up under a group of Stukas and both let loose a two to three second burst. This time, they hit the mark and they each sent two Ju87s down. The German crewmen were able to bail out over a farmer's field in Maxton to the southwest.

Henley and McSheffrey sought out more targets and found a pair of Bf109s turning in toward some of their fellow squadron mates. They maneuvered to get in behind them. It took several minutes and by the time they were in a decent position, one of the Bf109s broke high right and the other dove off to the left. The two RAF pilots chose to chase the one that broke high right. As expected he lead them around to a converging track with his partner who was now climbing to get a head on solution. The diving German dove steeper to go below his wing man. Henley was able to put a burst into the cockpit sending that plane hurtling toward the Channel uncontrollably; no chute appeared.

As the charging Messerschmitt approached he and McSheffrey exchanged shots and passed one another narrowly. Ian swore he hit the bugger, but he himself was hit. He noticed his oil pressure was dropping.

"Henley, this is Digger, over." Ian called his Squadron leader. "That last pass was it for me. I'm losing oil pressure. I need to get this beast on the ground right now."

"Get back to Croydon." Henley called to Flight Officer McSheffrey. "Good luck, mate."

McSheffrey was able to dive down on the deck and make it back to Croydon before the engine seized up. He had a crack in the block which caused a leak. The leak would have been faster if the bullet had actually penetrated the block. As it turns out, the bullet ricocheted off the engine enough to crack it. The small leak was big enough to create a noticeable loss in engine oil pressure.

"We're going to need to replace this engine, sir." The crew chief spoke to Ian McSheffrey at the Airfield. "Fortunately we have a brand new pack in the shed."

"Splendid, old man. Get on it right away. See if you can't rearm and refuel when you are through."

The Crew Chief looked at him oddly. "Sure thing, sir. Replacing that pack will take 'nary eight hours. Don't expect to go up again today."

"Right. Do what you can." Ian walked back to the Operations Center.

"These bloody pilots have rocks in their heads, me thinks sometimes." Sergeant Crawford muttered to himself as Ian McSheffrey walked away. "Replacing an engine pack takes a lot of frickin' time."

Edited March 23, 2010 by Gunther

[Gunther]

Later that morning, the remainder of Number 72 Squadron returned to Croydon. Captain Henley added 3 kills to his tally, bringing him up to 11; good enough for a two time Ace. McSheffrey had already painted his 7th kill on the fuselage of his plane while the ground crew were replacing the engine.

Shortly after they landed, the telephone rang for Captain Henley. "They wouldn't send us right back up after we landed, right?" Flight Officer Davies asked.

"That would be silly." someone answered. In time, the Squadron Leader hung up the phone.

"Ok gentlemen, don't get too used to this Airfield. In a few months we are all moving to RAF Biggin Hill. They have a paved runway and brand new accommodations for us." Captain Henley broke the news to the assembled crowd. "We have two weeks to pack and prepare the Hangar crews for movement. I'll let Sergeant Crawford and his men know." Henley looked at the Calendar on the wall. "We can expect to make the move on or about the 12th of August. Is there any questions?"

"What facilities do they have their?" Someone asked.

"I don't know. We will learn all that when we get there."

"What about a replacement pilot?" Ian McSheffrey asked. "What about Welch's Spitfire? Any news on that?"

"Welch's new Spitfire is being ferried this afternoon. It will be here soon."

[Gunther]

[center][size="5"][b]30 July 1940[/b][/size][/center]

Gloom and doom are often words associated with dreadful and dreary conditions. The enemy and the weather could both be described in this fashion. The rain was drizzling at 0540 hours when the pilots and ground crew of Number 72 Squadron stepped outside to do Physical Fitness training. Captain Henley didn't care if there was four feet of snow on the ground; we were still going to do PT.

A nice leisurely run around the airfield is good for the mind, body and soul. It clears the lungs out and draws the out the adrenalin; providing a 'happy' feeling for the rest of the day. It also gives you additional energy to accomplish the impossible.

After breakfast, Ian figured he could spend the day in the Maintenance hangars if 'Elegant Lady' wasn't ready yet. As it turned out, Sergeant Crawford had his best men on it. The new engine was in the cowling, the propeller was leaning up against a wing. Ian inspected the old engine. It was covered in oil and the crack was quite visible. A long gouge mark roughly 20mm wide at its widest point ran along a portion of the right side. The crack ran perpendicular to the trajectory of the cannon round.

"You're lucky to be here, sir." Sergeant Crawford told Flight Officer McSheffrey.

"That appears to be quite the assessment, Mr. Crawford." Ian addressed the Maintenance Sergeant. "How much longer will the engine replacement take?"

"Oh, we still need to finish a few more connections, put the Propeller back on and restore the cowling. We need to run the engine for a full tank of fuel at 1200 RPMs to break it in. This thing has never been used before." Sergeant Crawford went on. "Once the tank is empty we'll replace all the fluids and run it again for ten minutes. Then it should be fit to fight."

"Splendid, old boy. I don't expect we will be going up in this weather anyway. Probably ready this afternoon sometime then?"

"Yes, sir. That sounds about right."

Ian walked back to the Squadron area to see what the other pilots were doing. He thought about Colin O'Dougherty as he walked. He missed his friend; wished he were still here. 'Lord knows Group isn't sending replacements along quick enough.' Ian thought to himself. 'The bloody war could be over before I get another wing man. Although flying with Henley has been fun.'

[Gunther]

[center][size="5"][b]31 July 1940[/b][/size][/center]


Just as the sun was peeking over the horizon, the Pilots and ground crew of Number 72 Squadron were out running around the airfield. The sky was clear and the air was warming up quickly.

Beautiful days often tend to bring Jerry around to play, but there wasn't a cloud in the sky. The Squadron had already had at least two incidents where the Germans turned around and flew back to France at the sight of RAF fighters. On a day like this, if they show up, they are more apt to run than to fight.

Ian McSheffrey walked over to the Repair shed to see Sergeant Crawford about "Elegant Lady". The Aircraft was good to go and ready for operation. Ian was pleased about that, just wondered if his replacement wing man was going to arrive today. There was some mention of it.

By the Noon meal, they had not received a call for a Scramble, but shortly after lunch, the phone rang. Captain Henley answered it, "Good afternoon, seven two squadron, Henley speaking." Captain Henley listened intently, jotting a few notes down. He smiled and finally stated, "Will do, sir. We look forward to your arrival." A few more seconds later, "Will do sir. See you soon."

Captain Henley hung up the phone and turned the group. Whenever the phone rang, anyone in ear shot was standing close by to see if they were going up. Today, it was not a Squadron Scramble. "Group Commander, Air Vice Marshal Keith Park will be here at 1500 hours this afternoon. He would like to address the Officer and men of Number 72 Squadron. He didn't specify more than that. If we get a call, he said he will wait for us here."

"Oh great. What does that bloody !@#$%^& want?" Someone asked.

"Mind your tongue. I flew with Marshal Park over France after Jerry came through the Low Country. He was there at Dunkirk too. He's a good officer, intelligent and I wouldn't serve under a better leader. I will not tolerate that form of insubordination. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir," came a collective response from the group. With that said the phone rang again.

"Squadron Scramble!"

By 1300 hours, the eleven aircraft of Number 72 Squadron were over their initial Rally Point (IRP) headed for Dover. In a few minutes, they were crossing over the Cliffs at 20,000 feet.

"Jerry at 12 O'clock!" Someone yelled over the radio. 15 Bf109s hit their throttles and charged upward into the RAF Spitfires. Henley and company tipped their noses downward and closed the gap. The Aircraft passed sending volleys of 7.7mm, 13mm and 20mm rounds flying back and forth. Ian picked up a few rounds in his port wing, but nothing to be concerned about. Within minutes everyone was circling, weaving, diving, climbing; conducting a deadly ballet of sorts. Flight Officer Welch took several hits in the engine cowling. Black smoke poured out and the engine seized up, causing the doomed aircraft to head toward the cliffs. Welch was able to bail out and found himself on the familiar beach once again.

"Damn it!" Welch kicked at a rock on the beach. "I just got that friggin' plane yesterday." Welch started walking back along a familiar path to the topside of the Cliffs. "Shot twice in three days, Splendid Norman; simply Splendid."

The Aerial duel above continued. Ian and Henley found themselves in a defensive struggle against two Bf109s they could not shake. Ian saw a BF109 in the distance heading down and heard over the radio, "I got one!" It was Flight Officer Davies. He was able to take one out.

Ian and Henley rolled over and dropped to 15,000 feet turning to the north. Ian saw a Spitfire about 1000 yards away burst into a ball of fire and plummet into the water. There was no time for the pilot to get out. He knew that he had been killed, but wasn't sure who it was. He didn't have time to think about it. If the hesitated he would soon join his ill-fated Squadron mate.

Five minutes later, the Germans broke contact and ran back towards France. The RAF fighter pilots did not pursue.

"Someone bought it." Henley called over the radio. "Everyone call in." Flight Officers Welch and Collins did not respond.

"I saw Welch hit his chute." Someone stated over the radio. I think he landed on the beach below the Cliffs like he did two days ago."

"Collins' Spitfire burst into flames." Ralph Taylor stated. "We were trying to evade three Messerschmitts. I got away and he didn't quite make it."

"Ok. Let's head back to Croydon. We're all done here." Captain Henley called over the radio.

Eleven Spitfires took off and nine returned. This was one more thing Henley would have to speak to Marshal Park about. It was 1420 hours and he would be there in 40 minutes.

Edited March 25, 2010 by Gunther

[Gunther]

The pilots of 72 Squadron were pretty disgusted with themselves. They'd faced similar odds in the past and come out on top. This time they lost two and shot down one. One of their own was dead; instilling a sour feeling that no one enjoyed, but realized it was ever present.

"Don't forget the Air Vice Marshal Keith Park is coming. Use this time to get cleaned up. We'll have a formation at 1450 hours." Captain Henley told his pilots. He also let Sergeant Crawford know and Corporal Thorogood when he got inside the Operations Center.

At 1500 hours promptly, a sedan pulled up to the Operations Center at RAF Croydon. The officers and men of 72 Squadron were in formation. The pilots were assembled to the left, then the Ground Crew which numbered 33 Airmen. The final formation was the Operations and Headquarters personnel which numbered 12 Airmen.

Marshal Park was a highly decorated aviator. He approached the formation. Captain Henley stood front and center of the formation. "Squadron," Captain Henley yelled, "Attention!" The formation of 54 Officers and men snapped to the position of attention. Then he yelled the preparatory command, "Present," slight pause, "Arms!" In unison all 54 men snapped to a salute.

Marshal Park approached Captain Henley and rendered a hand salute to the young Captain. Captain Henley lowered his arm and gave the preparatory command, "Order," a slight pause, "Arms!" With a snap, everyone dropped their arms to their sides. "Sir, All present and or accounted for, sir!" Captain Henley yelled.

"Thank you Captain. Fall in to my left." Marshal Park spoke to the Squadron Leader and then directed to the assembled squadron, "Stand at ease!" The men all moved their left foot to the left and slightly to the rear with hands clasped behind their backs.

"Good afternoon Gentlemen." Group Commander Park yelled. "I am saddened to hear about your losses. I was informed about the death of Flight Officer Collins before I left Group Headquarters. I am aware that you had another fatality last week. I am working diligently to summon replacements for both of these aviators. I assure you that the RAF and Fighter Command are both working hard at training new aviators and insuring they are ready to meet the enemy in the deadly skies."

"On another note, I am extremely pleased with your performance. We have been fighting the Battle of Britain, as the Prime Minister puts it for three weeks now and your performance is superb. This Squadron has shot down 33 enemy aircraft in this time and suffered only five losses. That is outstanding. Your kill ratio is over six to one. I know you are operating with under strength numbers and I will rectify that situation at my earliest opportunity. I assure you, you will receive the replacements soon as well as the replacement aircraft. I have also been told that Flight Officer Welch was picked up by a farmer on the coast and he is on his way back here now. He should be back at Croydon by 1600 hours."

"Soon, you will move your operation to RAF Biggin Hill. The facilities are much nicer there and I believe you will appreciate it. The maintenance hangars are brand new, the barracks are brand new and the flight line is paved. No longer will you have to take off on a grassy field. We are consolidating you at Biggin Hill with 32 Squadron, 79 Squadron, and 610 Squadron. In the past you have worked with each of these Squadrons on patrols and interception missions over the English Channel and Southern England. Now you will have the opportunity to speak with the pilots and Airmen of these squadrons in person. They even have their own Officer and Enlisted Clubs as well as a recreation facility and athletics field. I know that you will both enjoy yourselves there and find it conducive to the mission of killing Germans."

"The reason for my visit today is twofold, I came to not only inform you of what is going on in the Group regarding your Squadron but also promote two of your members and give out some awards." Air Marshal Park's Adjutant had been waiting silently in the background. When he heard the Air Marshal speak, he stepped forward and handed some items to him. The Air Vice Marshal came to the position of attention. "Squadron,....Attention!" The formation snapped to attention. "The following individuals post! Captain Arthur W. Henley and Flight Officer Ian McSheffrey." Captain Henley and McSheffrey quickly walked to a position in front of the Group Commander.

Lieutenant Colonel Wilfred Jenkins, Adjutant to 11 Group read the orders, "Attention to Orders. Henley, Arthur W. You are hereby promoted in rank to Major in the Royal Air Force. Signed Air Vice Marshal Keith Park, 11th Group, Commanding and Albert Frederick Arthur George, King George VI, King of the United Kingdom and the British Dominions, Emperor of India, King of Ireland and the first Head of the Commonwealth, signed the 28th day of July in the year of our lord, nineteen hundred and forty." Air Vice Marshal Keith Park, removed Arthur Henley's Captain insignia and replaced it with the rank insignia of a Major.

When Marshal Park was complete with Major Henley he stepped to his right, standing in front of Flight Officer Ian McSheffrey. The adjutant read off the orders for Ian's promotion to Flight Lieutenant. Flight Officer or Flying Officer is equivalent to a 2nd Lieutenant in the Army and Flight Lieutenant equivalent to a First Lieutenant. With this promotion, Ian was now elevated to Executive Officer of Number 72 Squadron.

After Air Vice Marshal Park pinned the rank insignia on Ian McSheffrey, he announced the assembled group, "Major Henley and Flight Lieutenant McSheffrey are also being awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross as the two leaders of the Squadron for recorded kills against the enemy." Lieutenant Colonel Jenkins read the orders aloud and Air Vice Marshal Park pinned the medals on their chests.

[center][img]http://www.wwmeinc.com/mm5/graphics/00000001/UKR004%20225w.jpg[/img]
[i][b]Distinguished Flying Cross[/b][/i][/center]

When the awards ceremony was complete, Air Vice Marshal Park returned to his sedan and sped away. Major Henley spoke briefly to the formation and dismissed everyone

Edited March 25, 2010 by Gunther

[Gunther]

[center][size="5"][b]1 August 1940[/b][/size][/center]

Ian lay on his bed after breakfast thinking, 'another Beautiful day in glorious RAF Croydon. Will Jerry attack again today? Why did they even bother with this bloody offensive? That Adolf Hitler character is definitely off his rocker. Someone should replace him as soon as bloody possible.'

Later that morning, Ian walked into the operation Center. "Good morning Major Henley." Flight Lieutenant McSheffrey said to his Squadron Leader.

"Good morning to you, Flight Lieutenant." Henley responded without smiling. "I'm told replacements are due in today."

"Well that is promising." Ian stated.

"Don't hold your breath." Henley looked down at some papers. "Marshal Park says our move to Biggin Hill has been pushed back to 31 August now."

"Why the delay," Ian asked his commander.

"Apparently they don't have all of our quarters and office space complete yet and need extra time to square them away."

"I see." Ian thought for a moment. "I guess we'll see those replacements when we get to Biggin Hill then, eh?"

The Squadron ate meatloaf, mashed potato and stringed beans for lunch. The meatloaf was dry, the potatoes were lumpy and bland and the beans were has hard as sticks. On a positive note, the chocolate pudding tasted great.

By 1300 hours, the phone had not yet rung.

Flight Officer Welch sat in the overstuffed chair, "we wait all frickin' day for a phone call we don't want to get. What kind of bleeding life do we live here anyway?"

"Just try to keep your Spitfire dry, will ya Welch?"

"Oh, you're a bloody comedian now aren't ya? Ha ha ha." Welch stated mockingly.

[Gunther]

Flight Officer Welch's new Spitfire was ferried in around 4PM, but the phone never rang again that afternoon. At nightfall, Number 72 Squadron had 10 operational Fighters and Pilots. They were still short two pilots and accompanying aircraft.

[Sargun II]

"What's your name?"
"Flight Officer Taylor Bertram Galloway, sir."
"Galloway? Why the delay, then?"
"I wasn't the first choice, sir, and I had to be rerouted from Edinburgh."
"You'll do, then."

Galloway followed the man, who didn't bother to identify himself and was in a bit of a rush, to the operation center. After getting loaded up on brief snippets of information that he was likely to forget within the hour, he was told to eat his fill for the morning and sent off. Galloway was too nervous to eat but managed to get the meatloaf down, and after a while felt better enough to eat the rest. He stood up and walked to a nearby pilot. "You wouldn't happen to know where I could find Lieutenant McSheffery?"

[Gunther]

Two new pilots arrived as replacements around 5PM. Flight Officer Galloway and Flight Officer Dickinson. "Pardon me, My name is Major Henley. I am the Squadron commander." Henley looked over at the Operations Desk. Sergeant Langford was on duty. "Sergeant Langford, see to it these two pilots get quarters." Major Henley turned back to Flight Officer Galloway and Dickinson.

"Gentlemen, drop your gear and come into my office." Henley went in and took a seat behind his desk. "For the next few days, I do not want you to go up with the Squadron. Before I allow you to fly with us, I want to take you out on some training missions to see how well you do. It will be one on one, just you and me. Hopefully we will have time tomorrow to have some fun. I want you to get settled in before you have to get up there and dodge bullets. You must realize that the reason you are sitting here now is because someone else died doing the job you are about to perform. It is a sobering reality, but a reality nonetheless."

"First call is at 0530 hours. We start with Physical Fitness training out on the airfield. Return to your quarters, shower and dress. Morning meal, if it is not interrupted is at 0700 in the dining facility. I believe you may have had a meal there already today. Normally the food is palatable, but once in awhile, the cooks lose their way; if you know what I mean."

"Our primary mission is the aerial defense of Great Britain. With that said, nothing is more important than getting into your aircraft and airborne as quick as humanly possible when a call comes in. Typically, I answer the calls from Group Headquarters to scramble. If you hear me yell, 'Squadron Scramble!'; that means get your arses in the damn plane right now. Do you understand?"

"Most the day is boring around here. There isn't much to do. Some of the boys work on their airplanes, others play football and some read books. The toughest part about this assignment is fighting off the boredom. But the hours upon hours of boredom can be interspersed with fleeting moments of Sheer terror that can send you hurtling into the English Channel never to rise again. It is imperative that you listen to your Flight Leader."

"Every Pilot in the squadron is assigned in groups of two; Flight Leader and wing man." Henley went over assignments. Flight Officer Galloway, you will be assigned to Flight Lieutenant McSheffrey. Flight Officer Dickinson, you will be assigned to Flight Officer Davies. McSheffrey is the Squadron XO or Second in Command. He has 8 kills in the first 3 weeks of the Battle of Britain. Pay attention to what he says, but don't be around him when he's drinking. Flight Officer Davies has four kills to his name. When he gets one more, he will be an ace also. Pay attention to him, he knows what he is doing. I have all the confidence in the world, that you gentlemen will survive this ordeal in good shape. Welcome to Number Seventy-Two Squadron." Major Henley stood up. "Are there any questions?"

[Sargun II]

"No, sir. Just ready to get ready, sir."

Galloway was a nervous fellow, one who wasn't paranoid but a little too cautious for his own good. "Glad to be kicking some-some Nazi arse instead of in Edinburgh," he stated with a nervous laugh at the end. "The training mission, it'll be after morning meal, right?"

[Gunther]

"Yes, after morning meal. That is if we don't get a mission. Check in with Sergeant Langford. He'll get you settled in. Glad to have you with us." Major Henley stated with a [i]rare[/i] smile and put out his hand to shake with both pilots.

[Gunther]

[center][size="5"][b]2 August 1940[/b][/size][/center]

Another rainy morning; there is nothing finer than doing calisthenics in the drizzling rain. At least it wasn't pouring. Have you ever run in the rain? It is quite refreshing actually. Ian didn't mind running in the rain. He stepped out into it and trotted over to the PT field.

Everyone was showering and getting dressed when the phone rang. Major Henley was rushed to the phone to take down some notes. "Right," the Major said and a few more times, "Right. (Pause)...right...Got it." He set the phone down in the cradle. "Corporal Thorogood, let the pilots know we have a mission and have them report to the Ready room. No need to call on the two new pilots."

By 0700 hours ten Spitfires of Number 72 Squadron were patrolling over Dover. They banked left toward Margate and back to Dover. Once they returned to Dover, they headed west to Eastbourne and then back to Dover. They completed one loop in a half an hour. An hour into this patrol, someone called out over the radio, "Jerry 9 O'clock Angels 15!" Everyone looked to their left and down a bit as they were patrolling at 20,000 feet. As they watched the German Heinkel Bombers approach and Messerschmitt fighters, the noticed the entire group arc to the east and return to France.

"You'd think all them German Pilots were little school girls, with the way they run at the sight of us." Someone said over the radio.

"It is a bit a boost to see them do that."

'Fine let the little chickens run.' Ian thought to himself. 'Let's go eat breakfast.' "I need a cup of tea." Ian said and the squadron headed back to RAF Croydon. It was 0850 when they were back on the ground. Everyone headed to the Dining facility for breakfast.

Edited March 27, 2010 by Gunther

[Gunther]

The afternoon was quiet. It may have been the drizzling rain or it may have been that the Germans had lost their stomach to fight against the RAF. Whatever the case, Number 72 Squadron had a lot of down time this afternoon.

The phone rang at 1800 hours. Surprisingly, the Squadron was ordered to Scramble. This is only the 2nd Time the Squadron was ordered into the air in the evening hours. The Spitfire is a daytime fighter. Hopefully landing won't cause a problem.

"The Germans are quite active along the coast." Major Henley spoke on the radio. "Fighter Command believes they are planning something. Stay on your toes. We still have a few more hours of daylight and should be able to get home before the sun goes completely down."

At about 10 minutes to seven Group called the squadron and reported that RAF command has spotted large concentrations heading their way. This information was passed on to the rest of the Squadron. The formation of ten Spitfires loitered at 25,000 feet watching and waiting.

The clock rotated around to ten minutes after seven and they still saw nothing. Major Henley called Group and reported negative contact. Group told the Squadron to remain on station for another hour. If there was no contact with the enemy, they should report negative contact to group and head home.

By 2030 hours, the formation of ten Spitfires was back on the ground at RAF Croydon.

"Well that was a bloody waste of time." Flight Officer Davies commented.

"Aye, mate." Ian McSheffrey responded. "It would have been better if we could have fought them. But it's tough to do that when they don't show. Tomorrow is another day."

[Gunther]

[center][size="5"][b]3 August 1940[/b][/size][/center]

Physical Fitness training in the fog is quite a special event actually. The sounds you make are deadened by the moisture in the air; it is difficult to hear others at a distance and your clothing becomes soppy wet. That was the morning's physical fitness training experience. Fortunately the scrambled eggs were white and yellow and tasted like scrambled eggs for a change. They were quite uncanny in their taste.

"The clouds are at 4,000 feet this morning." Major Henley addressed the Squadron members including the new pilots in the Ready room. "Since we typically fly from 15,000 to 30,000 feet, the fog won't be much of a problem once we break 4,000 feet; it just the whole taking off part that will be something of a sticky wicket." Major Henley paced the floor glancing at his watch occasionally. He had received a call for a patrol mission and was keeping an eye on the clock. "The weather Gods tells us that visibility is 2 to 5 miles in this fog. We'll get a chance to prove them right or wrong."

"We will be patrolling from the IRP to Margate, turn towards the Thames Estuary and then north to Norwich. At Norwich we turn back towards the Thames Estuary and Margate, then back to Dover and Eastbourne. Once we hit Eastbourne, we repeat the loop. When we reach Dover the third time, we will return to RAF Croydon."

"Flight Officer Galloway, you'll be flying with Flight Lieutenant McSheffrey and Flight Officer Dickinson, you'll fly with Flight Officer Davies. Stay with your flight leaders and you'll be fine. If we get into trouble, just stick to your flight leaders. Don't try to break off and go head to head with the Germans, you'll only find yourself taking a swim. Do you understand?"

[Gunther]

Number 72 Squadron flew their patrol with no result. The rest of the day was spent waiting for a mission.

[center][size="5"][b]4 August 1940[/b][/size][/center]

After Breakfast, Major Henley informed the Squadron of another patrol scheduled along the same route as yesterday. This time, the unit will take off after lunch or 1300 hours.

[Gunther]

The 1300 Hour patrol went off without a hitch. No contact was made with the enemy and all ten pilots returned to RAF Croydon unharmed.

[center][size="5"][b]5 August 1940[/b][/size][/center]

Ian woke up this morning feeling great. The sun was shining and he was starting to get accustomed to the Germans running away at the sight of RAF fighters. It gave a man, a certain feeling of invincibility. 'I'd rather stay on the top side of the soil for a few more years yet,' Ian thought to himself.

About an hour after breakfast, Major Henley yelled for a Squadron Scramble. By 0830 hours; 72, 610, 79 and 74 Squadrons were all positioned between 25 and 30,000 feet over Dover; 43 Fighters in all. Within a few minutes 53 German aircraft, mostly Bf109s were spotted at 25,000 feet coming up from the Calais area.

The RAF pilots charged into the oncoming German formation which was in the process of turning around. "Why bother coming up if you're just going to turn tail?" Flight Officer Davies yelled over the radio.

"Who knows what is up with these clowns." Ian answered him. "This is becoming more of the routine now. Henley's Squadron caught up to the Germans. Davies and Henley both were able to shoot a Messerschmitt down. One of the Number 610 Airplanes was shot down as well, Ian saw a parachute when he went down. The fight didn't last long. The RAF fighters quickly broke off pursuit and returned to Dover.

By 1000 hours, Number 72 Squadron was back on the ground. The ground crew refueled and rearmed the fighters to be ready to go up if needed.

Edited March 30, 2010 by Gunther

[Gunther]

The unit sat around waiting for the phone to ring again. There were no more calls. A few of the guys went to bed drunk.

[center][size="5"][b]6 August 1940[/b][/size][/center]

Ian woke to a pounding headache. He took some white powder to settle it and his stomach and then headed outside for a PT. The air was moist and everyone was drenched in a half hour.

After Breakfast, Ian walked into the Operations center and read the meteorological report on the bulletin board.
[quote]Weather: Generally cloudy with fairly strong winds. Cloud ceiling 3,000 - 5,000 ft.[/quote]
'Good day for flying, if you 're a German.' Ian thought to himself. 'At least we know they'll be coming in low.

(OOC: Here's where my story deviates from reality. Number 72 Squadron doesn't come to Southern England until their assignment at Biggin Hill on 31 August. In historical reports, No 72 Squadron (Spitfires) intercepted one He111 off Blyth (Northumberland) and chased it out to sea. That is in Northern England and I have them posted in Southern England.)

The telephone rang at 0800 hours and Number 72 Squadron was sent to Dover. When they arrived at Dover, they loitered at 9,000 feet looking down into the clouds. As it grew closer, the He-111 Bomber could be seen as a shadow bobbing in and out of the clouds. Major Henley knew exactly what it was and the RAF pilots of Number 72 Squadron dove into action.

It did not take long to send the German bomber hurtling into the English Channel. Two of the younger pilots each received half a kill for that one.

By 0900 hours, the Squadron was back on the ground at RAF Croydon.

[Gunther]

After a two hour patrol, the Germans failed to materialize. By 1430 hours, the Squadron was back on the ground at RAF Croydon being refueled.

[center][size="5"][b]7 August 1940[/b][/size][/center]

Rain pelted the buildings and thunderclouds rumbled through the greater London metropolitan area. Fortunately these were natural explosions; nothing to be alarmed about.

"Gerry stays home when the sky is beautiful and he stays home when it rains." Ian spoke to no one in particular while the pilots waited for a mission. "Looks like another day of sitting around doing nothing."

[Gunther]

[center][size="5"][b]8 August 1940[/b][/size][/center]

'Another lousy morning meant visits by Jerry,' thought Ian McSheffrey. 'Maybe the old man could forego the training op for the cherry-boys.' Ian was referencing the new pilots.

Shortly after breakfast, the phone rang and Number 72 Squadron was ordered to the Isle of Wight. Apparently RAF Fighter command detected a large formation of German aircraft loitering around Cherbourg.

When Major Henley and his Squadron arrived, they found four other RAF squadrons loitering over the Isle of Wight; 32, 74, 79 and 610. "Welcome to the party, boys!" Someone called over to the 72 Squadron when they arrived on station.

"Where's Jerry?" Henley asked the other squadrons.

"Group says he's waiting south of here. I'm sure he'll be along shortly."

Shortly after that statement was made, a call rang out, "Jerry, 12 O'clock low!" The RAF were loitering at 25,000 feet and the Germans were approaching at 20,000 feet. A convoy of Ships were slowly plodding their way through the channel. Ju-87s were diving on the helpless merchant vessels as RAF Spitfires and Hurricanes charged into the fray.

Ian got an early jump on two Bf109s. Major Henley allowed his XO to take lead this morning. The two RAF pilots came upon the two Messerschmitts rapidly hitting the trigger for a 2-3 second burst each sending both Germans down in fiery balls. "That's number nine!" Ian spoke over the radio.

"Number thirteen for me," Major Henley retorted with a smile.

It was a slaughter fest for the RAF pilots. Only a few British aircraft went down; 32 Squadron counted two losses and 79 counted two. Major Henley scored two more kills bringing his tally up to 15 and Ian McSheffrey got one more, bringing his total up to 10. A few of the others each got kills as well. Number 72 Squadron accounted for ten enemy kills this morning.

By 1000 hours, they were back at RAF Croydon. The Ground crew worked quickly to get the Spitfires refueled and rearmed. Ian wanted to add his two kills to the fuselage. He sought out a paint brush and some red, black and white paint. After a several minutes of work, he admired the depiction of ten German flags on the side of his aircraft.

[Gunther]

By 1100 hours, all Spitfires on the Flight line were refueled and had a full load of Ammunition ready to go. It was a good thing as the phone rang shortly after that calling on a second Squadron Scramble of the morning.

By 1115 hours they were loitering over Dover. At 25,000 feet you can see the entire world for miles and miles around. At 1130, Number 79 and 610 Squadron joined them.

"Is Jerry going to show up this morning?" Flight Officer Davies asked over the radio.

"He showed up this morning." Major Henley replied, "Just keep your eyes open and aware of your surroundings."

Finally, at 1145 hours a flight of 25 Ju87 and Bf109s appeared on the horizon. They flew in at 20,000 feet searching the shipping lanes below. the Stukas went into their now famous screeching Dive with the Messerschmitt Buzzards over head. 610 and 79 mixed itup with the Messerschmitts while 72 chased after the diving stukas.

Ian McSheffrey chose the closest Stuka who was dropping fast. The Spitfire could close the gap, but he was coming in at a bad angle. Ian had to push hard on his left rudder pedal, dropped his throttle to nothing and banked slightly to the right in order to slide into a good angle. He let loose a five second burst, working to keep his Spitfire lined up on the Black Diver Bomber adorned in Swastikas.

Within seconds a black plume of smoke poured out of the exhaust. The pilot pulled out of his dive and banked back toward the south. He slowly allowed the aircraft to drop down to wavetop level and then landed the plane in the Channel. He cut his throttle, put full flaps and pulled back on the stick. The Stuka rested on the waves. The two Germans climbed out of the cockpit, threw a rapidly expanding rubber raft into the water and jumped in.

Ian Climbed back up and noticed a Hurricane hurtling toward the channel and no chute above it. Minutes later a Bf109 was going down with a chute above it. Five minutes later, the Germans broke contact and ran for France. Number 72 Squadron headed back home and were back at RAF Croydon by 1300 hours.

[Gunther]

At 1400, the Ground crew had the aircraft refueled and rearmed ready to go. Sergeant Crawford walked up to the Squadron Leader, "You guys keep this pace up, we'll be out of fueled by tomorrow."

"We'll order some more, Chief!" Major Henley yelled as the pilots walked up to the Operations Center.

At 1430, the phone rang and Number 72 Squadron was back in the air again. "Three times in one day?" Flight Lieutenant McSheffrey mentioned over the radio, "This must be a record.

At 1500 hours, a flight of German Aircraft approached from the south. 12 Bf109s came in first and the two squadrons rolled, banked, twisted and turns with no results. Fifteen minutes into the fight, the Germans, broke away and raced back to the French Coast.

"Anybody get anything?" Major Henley asked over the radio, but no one responded. "Ok, pilots, check in." Everyone spoke up; all ten pilots were still there. "Well we haven't lost anyone."

"Jerry coming back at us," a voice called over the radio, "this time from the Southwest." 9 Bf109s and 7 JU-87 raced toward the English Coastline at 10,000 feet. There was a group of ships in the lane below moving along rather slowly. The Stukas rolled over and headed for the deck to drop bombs on the ships below. The Messerschmitts climbed toward the charging Spitfires and the two groups exchanged rounds as they passed. A few of the Number 72 Pilots chased after the Ju-87s while the rest banked around to take on the Messerschmitts.

"I've got one on my tail," flight Officer Davies called out.

"Davies, bank right and bring it around," flight lieutenant McSheffrey called out. "I'll get into position." Davies brought his aircraft around and as he completed a 180 degree turn he was looking at Ian McSheffrey's 'Elegant Lady'. The RAF Spitfire made a head-on pass and a three second bust of cannon and machine gun fire that lit up the Bf109's cockpit. The stricken plane rolled over and dove into the Channel below.

After that last German went down, they broke off their attack and headed back to France. By 1645 hours, Number 72 Squadron was back on the ground at RAF Croydon.

"Come on boys." Sergeant Crawford spoke to his ground crewmen, "time to fill these pigs back up again."

The Squadron didn't go back up again that day.

[Gunther]

[center][size="5"][b]9 August 1940[/b][/size][/center]

Another rainy day at RAF Croydon. This meant that the Germans would not show up today.

Edited April 4, 2010 by Gunther

[Gunther]

[center][size="5"][b]10 August 1940[/b][/size][/center]

Thundestorms and rain squalls. You know Jerry is not showing up today. This would be a perfect day for a training mission.

"Corporal Thorogood, bring me Flight Officer Galloway, Flight Lieutenant McSheffrey, Flight Officer Dickinson and Flight Officer Davies."

"Right away, sir!" The Corporal ran off to retrieve the pilots requested by Major Henley.

[Sargun II]

Flight Officer Galloway, who was busy stretching a sore shoulder (he slipped and hit a wall yesterday), was called by Corporal Thorogood to report to Major Henley. Galloway pointed him in the direction of Flight Officer Dickinson and reported to Major Henley.

"Sir."

[[finally got some free time]]

[Karl MarxLenin]

[i]"Mikey"[/i]
Mike was 14 when war came. The ruddy Germans had taken over France and Poland, and almost everythin' else. His native Liverpool turned from a harbor town to a war city.
His brothers, John and Evan, had been sent to help in France. Evan died, and John was left with a single leg. Mum was ill, and Dad had run away to escape draft. Bloody idiot, Mike thought. Left his family layed squarely on a 14-year-old's shoulders. Bloody idiot!
That night, Mike decided he couldn't stand it anymore. He left a note saying how he was sorry, and a note of 100 Pounds. All the money Mike had had in his life.
That night, the RAF recruited a 17-year old pilot who stood 6'1 feet tall, named Mike Riches.
On the way from the railways in Liverpool to Portsmouth, Mike saw the full effect of the war. On his same cart were 2 Canadians, from Toronto. They asked him his name. When they talked, it sounded like they were holding their noses. "So, yer name's Mike?" said the pilots in that annoying voice of theirs. "We'll call you Mikey."
Mike grimaced.