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  Undaunted, the crew in the damaged German bomber skillfully trained their guns on Simms and continued to fight on. A stream of bullets from the smoking night raider hurled back at the Spitfire. Captain Simms found himself so fully occupied with dodging gunfire, he couldn't finish off the enemy aircraft.

  "Much more of this, and I'll have to back off," Simms muttered to himself.

  Feverishly, Captain Simms pushed his control stick right and left. The deadly rain of enemy bullets continued. But, just as Simms prepared to break off his pursuit, the white flashes of tracers firing from the Ju 88 abruptly stopped.

  "Are your guns jammed, or are you out of rounds?" Simms asked out loud.

  For the first time since the battle started, the German bomber was completely vulnerable. Simms wasted no time. He knew all too well that in seconds, the bomber's guns could be unjammed or reloaded, and the lethal hail of bullets would return. Quickly closing the gap between the two planes, Simms lined up on the smoking aircraft and triggered his guns. A line of bullets from his Spitfire tore into the struggling German Ju 88. With another burst of orange flame, the second engine exploded. Instinctively throwing his stick to the right, Simms quickly rolled over to avoid colliding with the metal debris thrown into the air.

  Leveling out, Captain Simms leaned forward in his seat and watched the trail of smoke and fire from the crippled bomber trace a path earthward. One by one, he counted four white parachutes pop open, outlined against the murky black sky.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  A BIT OF A PROBLEM

  Glancing up, Captain Simms played witness to the vicious duel between Gainey's Spitfire and the other German Ju 88 bomber. Furiously hurling gunfire at each other, white-hot tracer bullets from both planes ripped through the night sky. The awesome fury of the bedeviling sight was enough to practically hypnotize even the veteran pilot. Quickly realizing the danger facing Lieutenant Gainey, Simms violently rolled his plane right and raced to join his fellow RAF pilot straight away.

  Closing in on the battle, Simms called into his radio, "Brian, I'm coming up on your right, don't let him break left."

  "Roger," Gainey hastily replied, "I'll force him right."

  Gainey repositioned his Spitfire left of the twin engine bomber. The German pilot responded to Gainey's move by banking right, and unwittingly veered into Simms' line of fire.

  "Good, Brian... just what we want," Simms announced while watching the bomber cross into his gun sight.

  Captain Simms triggered his guns. But, the line of bullets bursting from his Spitfire missed the enemy plane. Frantically banking left to avoid more of Simms' gunfire, the bomber again crossed into Gainey's path. Seizing the moment, Gainey fired. Round after round smashed into the hapless Ju 88. A hail of bullets shattered the bomber's left engine and tore gaping holes through its wing. Unable to control their faltering plane, the German crew abandoned the spiraling hulk and jumped into the dark sky. Four more German parachutes popped open. Drifting through the air, their white silk canopies shimmered in the dim starlight.

  A moment later, Simms' headset crackled with a message from Lieutenant Gainey, "Thanks for the help, old chap."

  The English fighter pilots had successfully stopped two enemy raiders from reaching their target, but one still remained. The last of the three deadly bombers flew on, somewhere in the darkness.

  "Brian," Simms called over the radio, "do you see the third bomber anywhere?"

  "All I see is black and an occasional gray cloud," Gainey replied.

  "All right, let's keep sweeping the area, we'll run into him soon enough."

  "That's what I'm afraid of...," Gainey radioed back, "running into him."

  As Lieutenant Gainey had learned, spotting anything at night was a challenge, at best. But even the experienced Captain Simms found searching for a lone airplane in the vast night sky difficult. The RAF pilots strained their eyes while surveying the blackness, looking for a flicker of light or the slightest sign of movement.

  Finally, their search ended. Captain Simms found what he was looking for, barely visible through the wash of his propeller. In front of him, heading east, was a small dancing reddish-yellow light.

  "Number three!" Simms excitedly shouted to himself.

  Simms keyed the radio, "We're lucky tonight, Brian. Number three is straight ahead of us, probably heading home."

  Aiming at the glimmering spot moving through the sky, Captain Simms throttled up his engine and steered his Spitfire to intercept the last enemy bomber. As he closed on the German plane, Simms realized the flickering lights were flames pouring from a burning engine.

  Banking to intercept the third and last Ju 88, Captain Simms took aim and prepared to fire. But when the target lined up in the crosshairs of his gun sight, Simms heard a distressing message in his headset.

  The sound of Brian Gainey's voice rang over the radio clearly, but with a forced calm. "I've a bit of a problem here, Andy. They must have hit my fuel tank. My feet are soaked in petrol."

  Captain Simms knew when Lieutenant Gainey called him by his first name, the young pilot was worried. He also knew leaking fuel from the Spitfire provided good reason for concern. His wingman, and friend, urgently needed help.

  "Another day," Simms growled in his cockpit at the flaming enemy bomber in front of him.

  Throwing his stick to the side, Simms turned his Spitfire away from the easy score. Tending to the needs of his friend and fellow pilot was much more important.

  "Lieutenant," Simms called with exaggerated authority, "let's wrap it up. It's time to go home!"

  "Roger," replied the relieved Lieutenant.

  The two RAF pilots immediately changed course to head home. Together, Captain Simms and Lieutenant Gainey had survived night combat, but their mission was soon to become even more dangerous.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  THE REAL HERO

  On their way back to Hampton Airfield, Captain Simms kept in constant radio contact with Lieutenant Gainey. For the young pilot struggling to keep control of his damaged Spitfire, chatting over the radio seemed to shorten the anxious ride home.

  Searching for conversation that would lighten the moment, Simms reminded Gainey of the day they first flew their Spitfires trying to defend Hampton from a German air raid.

  "You should have seen the look on the Colonel's face when I told him we were going to take the new Spitfires up against those Me 109's."

  Colonel Harrison had sent numerous requests to RAF Headquarters asking to replace the 14th Squadron's aging Hurricanes with new Spitfires. Although the pilots had established themselves as one of the best fighter squadrons in the RAF, months of fierce combat had taken a toll on their rugged planes. More importantly, Harrison was concerned that improvements being made to German fighters would allow them to outperform the war-weary Hurricanes. Faster, more agile Spitfires were needed quickly, or he feared his squadron would start losing pilots.

  When the first three Spitfires were delivered to Hampton, Harrison was delighted, and for good reason. A day later, while Captain Dawson and most of the squadron were away on a mission, a wave of German planes attacked the airfield. Thankfully, Captain Simms and Lieutenants Gainey and Hyatt had remained behind. The three pilots were able to scramble the new Spitfires and save the base from destruction.

  Pretending to sound like Colonel Harrison, Simms playfully went on, "You can't take the Spits up there, you haven't been trained!"

  Gainey laughed at Simms' impersonation of the Colonel.

  "Stick and rudder, I told him," Simms continued. "It's just stick and rudder."

  "So that's where Hyatt got it from," Gainey shouted, interrupting the story. "Just before we went up, Hyatt tells me, 'Stick and rudder, Brian, it's just stick and rudder.' All this time I thought Hyatt really knew what he was talking about. Now I find out he was just copying you. When we get back, I'm going to have it out with him."

  "Don't be too hard on him, Brian," Simms told Gainey in a fatherly tone. "He just wants you
r respect."

  "Respect?" Gainey scoffed. "Hyatt's the most loyal man in our squadron. He's always been there for me, ready to save my tail. It was pretty risky when we took the Spits up against the Germans. Hyatt watched over me the whole time. He's earned my respect, all right."

  "Then why do you tease him so much?" Simms asked.

  Gainey blurted his answer in a mischievous voice, "Because you're a captain, so I can't tease you!"

  Simms struggled to hold back his laughter, and then keyed his radio, "That's right, I am a captain. And you jolly well better remember that, Lieutenant."

  Gainey started nodding his head, quietly appreciating the effort Captain Simms made to lighten the mood. Regardless, Gainey realized that as long as fuel continued leaking from his plane, he was still in danger.

  Facing another risky situation, Gainey called to Simms, "Funny thing. We received medals for defending the airbase, but we all know who the real hero was that day."

  Peering through the darkness trying to determine their location, Simms replied in a distracted tone, "No, Brian..., who?"

  "Young Harry Winslow," Gainey answered, "he's the one who knew the Spits were ready. I'll never forget, bombs popping off everywhere and there's Harry with enough wits about him to tell us the Spitfires were set to go."

  Simms thought for a long moment and keyed his radio, "That's right, he's been there for us a lot. He's a good lad."

  Alone in his cockpit, Gainey looked out into the murky blackness, oil and gas fumes stinging his eyes. Softly he mumbled to himself, "I wish Harry were here now."

  CHAPTER NINE

  SEARCHING FOR LIGHT

  Tense minutes slowly passed, while the two RAF Spitfires raced home to Hampton Airfield. Above them high clouds started drifting in, covering the once starry sky. Unbelievably, the dark night had grown even darker.

  Captain Simms squinted through his canopy, looking for familiar landmarks. Flying over the countryside, the veteran pilot struggled to confirm their location among the gray swatches of farm fields below.

  "I can't see a thing down there, Brian. Can you?" Simms asked.

  "Not a thing. I don't even see a car light on the road," Gainey called back.

  Concerned about Gainey flying in the damaged Spitfire, Simms radioed ahead to Hampton's control tower, "Hampton Field, Hampton Field, Patrol One calling."

  In return, the radio sparked with a response, "Patrol One, this is Hampton Airfield. We read you."

  "Hampton, we request emergency night landing procedures," Captain Simms informed the air controller.

  "Roger, Patrol One. You're requesting emergency landing procedures. Please stand by," the controller replied.

  The radio remained silent for a moment. Then, Colonel Harrison's concerned voice crackled in Simms' headset. "Andy, what's the problem up there?"

  "Colonel," Simms replied, "Lieutenant Gainey's Spitfire's been hit and is leaking petrol into his cockpit. Between running low on fuel and the fire danger, we need to get this lad down fast."

  "Agreed," Colonel Harrison radioed back to Simms. "We'll light up the field for three minutes, then you and Gainey can set down. But when the time is up, we're going dark, Andy, no matter where you lads are. There's been a lot of German aircraft flying around here tonight. Do you understand?"

  "Understood, Hampton, three minutes," acknowledged Simms.

  Captain Simms knew the danger of lighting Hampton's runway at night. From the air, the bright outline of the airfield against the dark ground surrounding it could be seen for miles. Enemy bomber pilots would like nothing better than to find the air base illuminated. If any German night raiders were within the region, they would easily identify the field and be able to destroy it.

  As a precaution, Hampton Airfield and the area around it followed blackout rules. At dusk, families like the Winslows covered their windows to prevent light from leaking out into the night. They turned off street lamps and avoided travel so that streams of headlights wouldn't identify roads. For pilots in the night air, locating a target became almost impossible without lights on the ground to guide them. In some cases, though, the risk of lighting the airfield was necessary to save injured pilots returning in damaged planes.

  "Brian," Simms radioed to Gainey, "we're cleared for emergency landing. Watch for lights on the field."

  "Yes sir!" Lieutenant Gainey's relieved voice rang in Simms' headset.

  Captain Simms listened closely when the air controller called him. "Patrol One, we have your position at ten miles east. Maintain your heading and watch for our lights."

  Comforted by the calm voice of the controller, Simms replied, "Roger, Hampton. Thank you much."

  Back at Hampton Airfield, Colonel Harrison stood by the flight controller while she spoke to Captain Simms. As commander of the base, Colonel Harrison was responsible for the safety of his pilots and his airfield. Simms and Gainey were already in danger. But once the lights went on, everyone else would be in danger, too.

  "Lights on in sixty seconds, people," Harrison shouted to the room. Staring at a young corporal seated next to the radar operator, Harrison ordered, "Start the three minute clock on my mark."

  Looking at his watch, he counted down, "Four, three, two, one, mark!"

  The corporal flipped a switch to start the three minute clock, while another controller threw on the switches to light the field. Through the control room windows, Harrison watched the powerful lights line the runway outside, shining bright against the surrounding darkness.

  Approaching the airfield in their Spitfires, Simms and Gainey searched for the lights. Where just a moment before there was nothing more than a featureless black sheet, suddenly, two bright lines created a runway,

  "There it is, Andy!" Lieutenant Gainey excitedly called over the radio. "There's the field!"

  Simms reached in his pocket and pulled out a small flashlight. Shining it on his control panel, he squinted through the glare to read his fuel gauge.

  "And none too soon," Simms thought. "I'm getting a bit low on fuel, too."

  Captain Simms shuddered. If his fuel gauge was reading low, then Gainey's leaking fuel tank must be practically empty. Simms couldn't help growing even more concerned for his fellow pilot's situation.

  "Final approach, Lieutenant!" Captain Simms barked into his radio. "Were short on time, Brian, so you take the lead."

  "Roger," Gainey replied.

  A skilled pilot, Gainey instinctively reduced throttle and trimmed the control flaps of his Spitfire. At the same time, he corrected his path to aim for the lights of the runway.

  Gainey radioed Simms, "See you on the ground."

  Captain Simms followed Gainey on his way to the mouth of the illuminated airstrip, watching to make sure his struggling friend was able to set down safely. With fuel collecting in the cockpit, there was no room for error while landing. One mistake and their night mission could end in a ball of fire on the field.

  CHAPTER TEN

  BRILLIANT IN THE DARKNESS

  Harry and Stuart worked at spreading a fresh blanket of straw on the floor of the wool shed. Together, the two boys made quick work of cleaning and preparing the small barn. Outside, they heard Erin pumping water from the well into pails for the thirsty sheep gathered in the holding pen. Everything was ready for shearing in the morning.

  Leaning on the rake he used to even the layer of straw, Harry watched Stuart straighten some tools laying on a bench.

  "Thanks for your help," Harry told Stuart while wiping beads of sweat from his forehead. "Without you and Erin, I would never have finished this in time. And, Mother would have been furious with me."

  Done with sorting the tools, Stuart replied, "Well, Harry, we were having so much fun, we kept you from your work. And after all, aren't friends supposed to help each other?"

  Harry smiled and nodded at Stuart. They were not only friends, they were best friends. Over the years, Harry, Stuart and Erin played and worked together. They were thick as thieves and loyal to each othe
r through and through.

  Erin's voice suddenly rang through the shed, "Stuart! Harry! Come quick!"

  Alarmed, Harry and Stuart ran from the dimly lit barn into the crowded pen of sheep. Outside in the dark, ewes and lambs playfully surrounded the two boys. Erin's voice bellowed from down by the well.

  "Look! Look at the airfield!" Erin shouted.

  Both boys looked past the fenced pen and into the distance. To their surprise, Harry and Stuart saw something they had never seen before. The airfield was illuminated. Brilliant in the darkness, two rows of lights marked the length of the runway.

  "I've never seen it lit before!" Harry shouted to Stuart.

  "Me neither!" Stuart replied, amazed by the sight.

  "Isn't it glorious?" Erin asked, invisible in the pitch black night.

  Harry and Stuart started to push their way through the flock of sheep in order to reach the gate to get a better look. Out in the distance, the lighted airfield beckoned. Standing by the gate, Harry and Stuart looked at each other, and then at the field.

  "Come on!" Erin begged. "Let's go down there and see what's happening."

  Harry swallowed hard. Every ounce of him wanted to bolt to the airfield. Except, he remembered what Susan had told him earlier. His mother expected him home. There was no time for dawdling by the hardstand. Regardless of the amazing sight, he knew he needed to respect his mother's wishes. She had given him the latitude to play with his friends and finish his chores, but wanted him back soon. Harry knew it would be wrong to disappoint her and shirk his responsibility.

  Abruptly, the sound of Spitfire engines roared over the fields. Out of habit, the children looked up. Gazing into the dark, they realized they couldn't see a thing in the black sky above them. All they could do was listen.