The New Kid Page 4

  A moment later, Simms barked into his radio, "Break!"

  The veteran RAF pilot rolled his Spitfire into a steep dive. Fitch followed, perfectly matching the lead plane. Dawson trailed behind and scrutinized every move.

  The three planes dove, twisted, turned and climbed through the air, as if tied by string. From the ground, the precision flying of the Spitfires looked like a perfectly executed dance. The planes chased each other over and over, circling the fields of Hampton County. Eventually, Dawson ordered the pilots to level out.

  Captain Dawson heaved a sigh of relief. He felt satisfied the young pilot could fly. In fact, it was obvious Fitch could fly well.

  Careful to hide his opinion for the moment, Dawson coolly admitted, "Apparently the RAF has done an adequate job of teaching you how to fly, Lieutenant."

  Now Dawson needed to know if Fitch was ready to fight. Lives depended on it. Before the young pilot could be accepted into the squadron, he had to prove he was prepared in all areas. The responsibility for making that life and death decision rested squarely on the shoulders of the Squadron Leader.

  "Time for the real test, Lieutenant," Dawson commanded. "Let's see how you do in a dogfight. I wonder how long it will take for you to score a hit, assuming you even get a chance. When I call, break, come and get us."

  Gaining confidence by the minute, Lieutenant Fitch smartly responded, "If I might ask, sir, which one of you would prefer to go down first?"

  Captain Simms enjoyed the playful jab as he quietly listened in his cockpit. In the world of fighter pilots, it was a good sign. Even Dawson felt bolstered by Fitch's new found nerve.

  "Perhaps to even things up a bit I should give you a few tips, Lieutenant," Dawson shot back. "Always aim ahead of your target, and remember, surprise gives you the advantage. Next time we run into some Focke-Wulfs, we'll use surprise to break their formation and..."

  Dawson's impromptu combat lesson was suddenly interrupted by the roar of Fitch's engine as he powered his Spitfire sharply away.

  "Where's he going?" Dawson demanded. "I didn't order a break."

  "You said break, Ted, and the lad jinked away," Simms laughingly replied. "Andy," Dawson argued, "I did no such thing."

  "You did, and it looks like we've lost him." Hearing the word, break, Fitch sped away, out of sight. Dawson realized the game was on, and immediately ordered Simms to follow on his wing while they searched for the young pilot.

  The two RAF veterans circled the area designated for the pretend dogfight, wary of their young foe. They practiced some evasive maneuvers for their own protection and scoured the bright blue sky, ready to chase the new kid down. Suddenly, Dawson spotted the lone Spitfire passing above.

  "Andy," Dawson called, "I see him at two o'clock high!"

  Impressed by the young pilot's skill, Simms questioned, "How ever did he get there?"

  "It doesn't matter!" Dawson snapped. "You circle high and I'll cross below. Force him down in front of me."

  "Roger," Simms acknowledged.

  With a burst of power, Captain Simms veered away, climbing fast. He swiftly directed his Spitfire to a position just above and behind Fitch. Then, Simms started bearing down on the young pilot, following Dawson's strategy.

  Fitch worked his controls and kicked at the rudder pedals trying his best to evade Captain Simms. Dawson's Spitfire crossed under to cut him off and lined up behind him as well. Fitch was caught in their trap. Rolling over and over, the new recruit labored to shake the RAF veterans.

  Abruptly, Fitch's radio sparked to life, carrying a nauseating message.

  "Tat-tat-tat-tat-tat..." Dawson droned over the radio, indicating he had Fitch lined up in his gunsight.

  Undaunted, Fitch quickly pitched his Spitfire up and climbed at a breakneck pace. Surprised by the daring maneuver, Simms lost position and had to break wide from the chase.

  Captain Dawson tried to hang with the young pilot by climbing after him. But, Fitch started twisting his plane into a spin. Glaring sunlight spilled through the glass canopy and the flickering bright flashes practically blinded Dawson. Disappearing in the sunshine, Fitch brilliantly escaped his Captain.

  "Andy," Dawson radioed to Simms, "I've lost Fitch. Can you find him?"

  When the radio hissed with a return message, Dawson anticipated a reply from Captain Simms. Instead, the voice in his headset was that of Lieutenant Fitch.

  "Tat-tat-tat-tat-tat," Fitch repeated over the radio in an annoying imitation of Dawson's earlier mock gunfire.

  Startled by the sound, the RAF veterans found themselves in an unexpected situation. Dawson quickly glanced over his shoulder to locate the other Spitfires. Captain Simms was just off his wing, but Lieutenant Fitch followed right behind, stalking his every move. Hot on his tail, Fitch singled out Simms and clearly caught him in his sights.

  "Tat-tat-tat-tat-tat," Fitch repeated over and over.

  Captain Simms immediately snapped into a steep dive and flippantly called to Dawson, "I found him! Now I could use some help."

  Lieutenant Fitch stuck to Captain Simms like glue. Fitch followed every move in perfect unison. Holding Simms constantly in his sights, the new kid playfully filled the radio with his sickening tat-tat-tat sound.

  Captain Dawson hurled his Spitfire over in a race to save Simms from the embarrassment of being "shot down" by a recruit. Knifing in behind Fitch, Dawson aligned his sights on the Lieutenant's tail, and called into the radio, "It's my turn, Danny. Tat-tat-tat-tat-tat."

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  THE REAL THING

  Down on the ground, everyone watched the Spitfires circling above. Harry and his friends craned their necks following the chasing planes. The pilots studied the headstrong qualification flight even more intently. Their lives depended on the outcome. Wrapped up in the breathtaking display, the men jumped to their feet when Fitch escaped from their Squadron Leader. And when the young Lieutenant daringly lined up behind Simms, they all burst out cheering.

  "Brilliant flying," Lieutenant Hyatt gasped in awe. "I think he's in, don't you, Brian?"

  "Definitely in," Lieutenant Gainey replied. "He's family now. Just in time, too. We need all the help we can get."

  "That's for sure," Hyatt agreed, gazing at the sky above. "Things might be looking up for all of us."

  Opinions had quickly changed. Fitch more than qualified. He passed the test with a fantastic demonstration of skill. Based on the chatter flying about, Harry could tell the pilots all agreed. Now, everyone seemed confident Fitch could help the squadron and improve their chances in combat. The three children joined in the cheering, excited for the newest member of the 14th Squadron.

  But the happy moment disappeared in a flash. A formation of fighter planes, hidden in the glaring sun, dropped on the three unsuspecting Spitfires. Stunned, the pilots on the ground gasped at the incredible scene unfolding above.

  "German fighters!" Lieutenant Gainey shouted, alerting the rest of the squadron. Grabbing his headset and parachute, Gainey called for the pilots to scramble, then raced off to his Spitfire.

  Ground crews frantically dashed to their stations while the pilots dispersed to their airplanes. The pop of engines echoed across the field, and white plumes of exhaust quickly filled the air as the remaining Spitfires hurled down the runway. Powering into the sky, the RAF pilots raced to rescue their friends.

  In the commotion, Harry, Stuart and Erin were left breathless on the hardstand. Harry desperately wanted to help, but all he could do this time was watch and wait.

  High above, the German planes forced an abrupt end to the amusing game played by the RAF pilots. The three Spitfires were surprised by the attack and scattered to avoid being raked by enemy gunfire. Then, Dawson and Simms, the combat veterans, quickly regrouped around Fitch and prepared for a real fight.

  Adjusting his goggles and bracing in his seat, Dawson radioed, "Try and keep them looking into the sun. Blind the devils, if you can."

  "Roger," Simms replied, clearing the safety away
from the trigger on his stick. Guns ready, Simms keyed his radio and asked, "How many are there?"

  Lieutenant Fitch's voice sparked in their headsets, "There's six of them, but they're not Messerschmitts."

  "Focke-Wulfs!" Dawson shouted.

  A squad of German Focke-Wulf 190s was flying a mission to goad RAF planes into a fight. Unfortunately for the English pilots, the enemy had stumbled onto their qualification test. Dawson recalled his last encounter with the new German planes. Yesterday, it took the whole squadron to drive them off. Today, they were outnumbered, two to one. Dawson suddenly realized it was even worse than that.

  "Danny, get out of here!" the Squadron Leader yelled in an uncharacteristic panic. "You've got no ammunition. Your guns are empty!"

  At the same time Dawson's warning flooded the radio, white hot tracer bullets arced past his plane. Amazingly fast, the Germans were already making another vicious pass on the small group of Spitfires.

  Captain Dawson and Captain Simms boldly reeled their planes about and raced to engage the enemy. Bursts of gunfire erupted, filling the sky with flashes of bright tracers and deadly bullets. The two RAF pilots harassed the Focke-Wulfs as best they could, but were simply outnumbered. Worse yet, Fitch's guns were empty. He couldn't defend himself, let alone help his commanders. The young pilot's only option was to avoid the skirmish altogether.

  Fitch reluctantly pitched his plane up and climbed away from the battle. Below him, the RAF and German fighters circled on each other like angry hornets around their nest. Then, one of the Spitfires suddenly bolted from the fray. Two sturdy Focke-Wulfs followed close behind it, guns blasting. The Spitfire's markings flashed into view. It was Dawson's plane. Fitch realized his Captain was in serious trouble.

  Captain Simms also witnessed Dawson's plight. He cleverly escaped the other German fighters and raced to help his friend. Closing in on the fray, Simms thumbed the trigger to his guns and fired on the tails of the enemy planes hounding Dawson. Undaunted, the plundering Focke-Wulfs continued their hunt.

  The dueling planes twisted through the sky. While Dawson raced to stay ahead of the two enemy fighters, Simms held fast to their tails and marked every move. Finally, the determined RAF veteran forced one of the Focke-Wulfs to break off. But, the cost of concentrating on one German plane allowed the second one to slip out of reach. The remaining Focke-Wulf fired relentlessly on Dawson's Spitfire, scoring hit after hit.

  Lieutenant Fitch anxiously circled above, watching. He knew time was running out for Captain Dawson. Unable to just stand by and watch, Fitch searched for a way he could help. Suddenly, the new kid had an idea. The Germans didn't know he was unarmed. Perhaps he could scare the Focke-Wulf off Dawson before the enemy called his bluff. It wasn't much, but it was all he had.

  Fitch threw his unarmed Spitfire into a perilous dive, willing to risk it all on his hasty plan. Crashing through the air, the young pilot held fast to his controls in a mad sprint to reach Dawson in time. Fitch pushed everything to the limit until he caught up to the Focke-Wulf stalking his Captain.

  Fitch caught up to the Focke-Wulf stalking his Captain.

  Hauling back on his stick, Fitch dropped in dangerously close behind the vicious German fighter. The resourceful RAF recruit adjusted the pitch of his propeller. By resetting the blades to the take-off position, the flattened prop sliced through the air faster and faster. While his thundering engine spun into the red zone, Fitch feverishly bucked his plane up and down precariously close to the German's rudder.

  Fitch's fanatical flying and the deafening roar of his power pitched prop chopping at the air startled the enemy pilot. The Focke-Wulf snapped away from Dawson's battered Spitfire. It looked like Fitch's plan worked perfectly, until the German quickly circled back. This time, he lined up on the new recruit.

  Lieutenant Fitch desperately hurled his Spitfire into another dive, attempting to slip away from the cunning German. When a line of tracer bullets ripped past his cockpit, the young RAF pilot realized he was still in trouble. The powerful wide nosed Focke-Wulf remained locked on his tail, guns blazing.

  Defenseless, Fitch relied on all his flying skill to outrun the ferocious German, but to no avail. The crack of gunfire grew louder and lines of tracers seemed to flow in all directions. Then, Fitch found himself surrounded by even more fighters. The young pilot had never experienced anything like this before and froze in his seat, unsure of what to do next. Oddly enough, a vision of Captain Dawson droning into the radio with that annoying tat-tat-tat sound flashed in his mind.

  Just when all seemed lost, the attack suddenly stopped. The Focke-Wulf bearing down on Fitch wheeled sharply away and raced out of sight, as if in a panic. Confused, Fitch spied the remaining planes around him. They weren't German, they were RAF Spitfires! The rest of the 14th Squadron had scrambled to the rescue and cleared away the marauding enemy fighters. The new kid escaped disaster, thanks to the squadron's help.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  A NEW MEMBER

  Lieutenant Fitch wiped nervous sweat from his brow, relieved to see the Spitfires around him. Flying on the right, Captain Dawson waved at the young pilot and motioned for him to look to his other side. On the left, Captain Simms flashed a thumbs up sign from his cockpit.

  Fitch was glad to see his commanders, but shuddered when he noticed a line of bullet holes ripped through the side of Dawson's Spitfire. He imagined his plane looked much the same. The young Lieutenant quickly realized how lucky he was to be safely nestled in the midst of the squadron.

  Captain Dawson ordered everyone to regroup for one more patrol of the area. As the pilots took their positions, an empty space appeared where Lieutenant Tate used to fly. The Squadron Leader noticed Fitch's plane straggling behind and keyed his radio, "That includes you, Lieutenant Fitch. The empty slot is yours."

  Daniel Fitch proudly smiled to himself, warmed by the confirmation he was officially a member of the squadron. He gently moved his Spitfire in line with the rest of the RAF planes. The other pilots grinned and waved at the new kid.

  Dawson's full squadron circled the countryside in search of any remaining enemy planes. Once they assured the airfield was secure, the twelve Spitfires dropped toward the grassy runway and landed one by one. Safely on the ground, the excited pilots jumped from their cockpits and ran to congratulate Lieutenant Fitch on his flying skills. The happy band of men quickly huddled together and began sharing their stories, adding another page to Hampton Airfield's folklore.

  Harry, Stuart and Erin stood in front of the maintenance hangers and watched the pilots make their way across the field. When the jolly group of men neared the hardstand, Captain Dawson buoyantly called out, "Harry, come here. I want you to meet someone."

  The excited children raced to the boisterous mob. Captain Dawson grabbed the new recruit by the arm and pulled him clear from the crowd.

  "Harry, I'd like to introduce you and your friends to Lieutenant Daniel Fitch," Dawson announced. "Our newest member of the squadron!"

  The pilots all cheered. But when Harry, Stuart and Erin heard Fitch's name and saw the young redhead pilot face to face, they gasped. At the same time, Lieutenant Fitch gulped and held his breath at the sight of the three children.

  Harry, Stuart and Erin had indeed met Daniel Fitch before. In fact just a couple years ago, the four of them used to play together on Harry's side of the hedgerow fence. Unexpectedly reunited, they silently stared at each other.

  Before another word could be said, Captain Dawson interrupted the awkward moment by ordering, "Squadron, to the Briefing Room!"

  The group of RAF pilots quickly headed off to discuss their second encounter with the German Focke-Wulfs. Trailing behind the others, Fitch glanced back at the three children and winked.

  Their mouths fell open. Shocked by the sight of their old friend, Harry, Stuart and Erin dashed across the field and ran all the way back to the Winslow house.

  The frantic children blew through the front door in a whirlwind. Harry shouted for his
mother. Mrs. Winslow called back from the kitchen.

  "Harry Winslow," she scolded, "you're always in such a hurry. What has you so excited this time?"

  "Mom," Harry started, trying to catch his breath, "you have to let me join the RAF! They need all the help they can get. We heard them say it."

  Stuart and Erin nodded their heads in support.

  "Harry, love," Mrs. Winslow replied, "we've talked about this before, and the rules are clear. You must be eighteen years old to join the Royal Air Force."

  "Yes," Harry started to argue, "but if you have your parent's permission..."

  Mrs. Winslow curtly cut him off, "That doesn't apply here. You're much too young."

  Harry swallowed hard and yelled, "All we want to do is help, and you won't let us. It's not fair."

  Frustrated with Harry's impatience, Mrs. Winslow exclaimed, "Just what is so unfair about making sure we don't send boys who aren't old enough to fight a war?"

  Harry listened to his mother's objection, and framed his new found reason. He felt sure she would have to let him join if she knew there were other underage pilots already at Hampton.

  "Lieutenant Fitch isn't old enough," Harry reported stubbornly. "He's not even sixteen, and he's a pilot."

  "Who is Lieutenant Fitch?" Mrs. Winslow scowled. "And how do you know how old he is?"

  "Mom, listen to me," Harry pleaded. "It's Danny Fitch! Remember the boy who stayed at Stuart's house a couple years ago? The one with the red hair? He's the new pilot in the squadron."

  "It's Danny, for sure, Ma'am," Erin mumbled in support. "And he knew us, too."

  "Flaming red hair on that one," Stuart chimed in. "Never forget that."

  Memories of the red-haired boy jolted Mrs. Winslow.

  "Of course I remember Danny," she replied. "But he's too young to be a pilot."