June 25, 1943
Sky above German Occupied France

Second Lieutenant Jim Halpert shrugged his shoulders and rolled his head around. He was bored and the drone of his engine along with the chill of high altitude was sapping his concentration. The cockpit of his P-47 Thunderbolt fighter was larger than the various training aircraft he’d flown back when he was in flight school. However, the extra space meant little now that he was well into the second hour of this mission. He took a deep breath that smelled of plastic due to the oxygen mask strapped to his face. Scanning the skies, he saw the long line of B-17 and B-24 bombers he was escorting. White contrails streamed out behind each of the four engines on every bomber. Glancing up into the rearview mirror on his canopy, he saw the contrails had spread out until it looked like there was a long white scar slashed through the sky.

The Krauts don’t need radar, they just need to look up, he mused. Enemy fighter resistance had been relatively minimal thus far. There would always be a few German fighters that flew up to intercept the American planes, but the escorting fighters had been able to drive them off. The bombers also flew in close formation to provide overlapping fields of fire and were very heavily armed. So much so that American generals were confident that the bombers didn’t need fighter escort for the entire duration of their missions. Jim and his fellow fighter pilots would fly with the bombers for as long as they could, until they were forced to head for home due to the limited amount of fuel their planes could hold.

Glancing at his fuel gauges, Jim mentally calculated they were nearing the turnaround point in their mission. Looking down at the map strapped to his thigh, he started plotting a course for home.

BOOM!!

An earsplitting explosion of light and sound burst just outside Jim’s cockpit. Looking to his left he saw the source of the explosion. The lead bomber’s wings were on fire and trailing dark black smoke. Flames shot out from the two engines on the bombers left wing. The stricken aircraft was slowly losing altitude and airspeed. Without warning tracers lanced in and stitched a path from the top gun turret and into the cockpit. More flashes of light and smoke billowed from the front of the plane. The nose of the bomber dipped down as it began an uncontrolled plummet to the ground below. Jim could only watch helplessly. It was only his radio crackling to life that shook him out of his daze.

“Bandits! 9’o-clock high! Cooper, Stamford, and Jester flights engage!”

Shaking his head for an instant, Jim opened up the throttle and pulled back and to the left on his stick. His engine started howling as he rose to meet the German fighters. More tracer rounds leapt up around him as bomber gunners opened up on the enemy. He had to squint as his nose came around to face the onrushing enemy planes. They’d taken advantage of an ancient tactic and were diving out of the sun.

I might not be able to see them, but I might be able to distract them, Jim thought. His thumb pressed down on the button on the top of his control stick. Instantly the eight machine guns in his plane’s wings barked to life. The recoil shook through the airframe as he continued his climb. He let loose a one second burst before taking his thumb off the trigger. No point in wasting any more ammo.

Outside his cockpit enemy planes roared past. Jim snapped his head around and tried to track the German fighters. The once boring skies had turned into a three-dimensional battle ground. American and German fighters were twisting and turning as they tried to gain a firing position on each other. The bombers held their course, but streams of machine gun fire were leaping up from the large planes. His radio had lit up with overlapping chatter.

“Cooper 3 watch yourself! You’ve got one on your tail!”

“We’ve got 109’s and 190’s. Be careful boys.”

“Stamford 1 break left!”

“They’re going for the lead bombers! Drive them off!”

“I’m hit! I’m hit! Get him off me!”

“Jester 1, break right!”

Jim rolled to his left and turned to pursue Germans. He keyed up his own radio as he leveled out to gain a better perspective. “Jester 3 to Jester 4, still with me buddy?”

“Jester 4 on your wing, 4’o-clock low.”

Looking back and to his right, Jim saw his wingman tucked in behind him. “Okay Four, stay tight on my wing. Check six and let me know if anyone comes calling.”

“Wilco Three.”

Knowing his wingman would keep their tails clear, Jim rolled his plane over to the left and dove back into the fight. Below him he saw a lone Focke-Wulf  Fw-190 fighter was lining up for an attack run on B-17. Sliding his plane to the right, Jim placed his gun sight just in front of the German plane and hit the trigger again. His machine guns blared to life once more. The tracers of his guns leapt out and converging on Jim’s target. Smoke started pouring out of the engine cowling and the plane started into an uncontrolled dive. Jim was about to trigger a second burst when he saw the canopy of the enemy plane open. The pilot of the stricken fighter leapt out and pulled the rip cord of his parachute.

“Jester Three, splash one!” Jim called out.

“Jester Four to Three, good shooting!”

“Thanks, Four, that’s my first kill!”

“Drinks are on you then.”

Jim felt a surge of pride as he rushed past the German pilot and looked around for other targets. Pulling out of his dive, he resumed the escort position he’d been flying before the enemy attack. Scanning the skies Jim took in the situation.  The Germans had been driving off, but not before inflicting damage. Around him there were now gaps in the bomber stream from where several had been shot down. He also didn’t see as many American fighters as before. Several of his squadron mate's planes bore machine gun damage. His group leader’s voice cut through the radio traffic again.

“Paperhawk Lead to group, cut the chatter!” The radio fell silent. “Remaining bandits are bugging out. Form up on your squadron leaders. Return to base.”

A concerned voice came back over the air. “Sir! What about the bombers? There could be more bandits in the area!”

Even through the radio static, Jim heard the frustration in his group commander’s voice. “They’re on their own. Break off.”

Swallowing the lump in his throat Jim was about to follow the order when he noticed something new outside his cockpit. Emerging from a cloud bank were dozens of fresh German fighters. He called out the sighting at once.

“This is Jester Three, bandits! 12’ o-clock high!”

His squadron commander acknowledged him. “Copy Jester Three, break off for home. Keep an eye on your six.”

Jim flew on just long enough to see the onrushing fighters and bombers start exchanging machine gun fire. He glanced back at his fuel gauge. His commander was right. If he didn’t turn back now, he wouldn’t have enough fuel to make it back to his base. With one last look Jim rolled his plane to the right and started the flight back to England. He reached over to turn down the volume on his radio. The cumbersome flight gloves he wore caused him to accidentally switch to the bomber frequency.

“Where the hell are those fighters going?”

“Two of them diving below!”

“Bail out! Bail out!”

“Engine three is on fire!”

“Got one coming right at-”

“Bomb-Bomb Gal’s going down! Anyone see any ‘chutes?”

“I’ve got to break off!”

“My co-pilot's dead and I lost my waist gunners! I need some help over here!”

Quickly Jim turned his radio back to the fighter frequency. Glancing up at his rearview mirror wasn’t any better. The once proud line of American bombers was now being hounded from all angles by the Luftwaffe. A B-17 snapping in half made him tear his gaze away from the carnage. Jim felt his breathing become rapid again. In frustration he took his hand off the stick and punched the instrument panel in front of him. His gaze settled on the spot near where his fist had stuck. A picture was tucked in between his airspeed indicator and altimeter. Even though the picture was in black and white, Jim could still clearly envision the honey-brown curls, the soft pink cheeks, and warm green eyes of the woman looking back at him. Lost in his reverie he almost didn’t catch the urgent radio call.

“Bandits! Three ‘o-clock high! Break! Break! Break!”

Looking up to his right, Jim saw a flight of German fighters diving on him. Their machine guns were already firing. His plane shuddered as he felt the impact of the enemy guns. Looking back down at the picture there was only one thought going through his mind.

Pam!!