1 September 1940. On an afternoon patrol, four Spitfires, crewed by Sqn Ldr Theo Bates, Flt Lt Richard Harper, Fg Off Piotr Galik, and Fg Off Patrick "Yank" Nelson, are alerted to a small group of German aircraft on route to attack a radar station. Outgunned and with little time to come up with a plan, Bates thinks fast. Spotting four Bf-109s, he radios "Increase your altitude, chaps, and let's hit Jerry from the sun."
The Germans spot their opponents too late. Bates' Spits fly into the 109 formation, severely damaging the lead plane. With a lucky hit, Bates hits a 109's fuel tank, turning the scourge of Poland and France into a fireball. A panicking 109 returns fires and hits Bates' engine. Just then, the flak defending the radar station opens up, tearing through the two lead 109s.
Dazed at how quickly bad Lady Luck has betrayed them, the 109s bank left, still hunted by Bates and his wingmen. However, a lone 110, hanging slightly behind the 109s, begins tailing Bates and opens up. Feeling a succession of thuds, Bates' Spit is hit and Bates quickly realizes that the he can no longer turn left.
The rest of the Spits continue pouring deadly fire onto the 109s, wounding two of the pilots. One of the 109s splits off from the pack while the other two perform an Immelmann, hoping to tear the Spits to pieces with their deadly cannons.
But today is not the day for Deutschland. Unable to shake the 110, Bates follows his battlefield instincts and radios: "Galik, Yank, go take out that bastard who's on my tail, roger." Galik and Yank begin to bank hard right with Bates. Harper, focusing on a smoking 109, follows his prey to the left. In a series of tight maneuvers, Bates collides with both one of the 109s and the 110, miraculously suffering no damage while inflicting 8 on the 110.
It's slowing dawning on the 110 pilot how much trouble he's in. He turns and begins lining up a bombing run on the radar station so he can get out of Dodge with at least some dignity. But it's too late. Harper maneuvers behind the 110 and, while met with accurate fire from the 110's rear gunner, slightly wounding him in the shoulder, lines up a shot. Another round of flak kills the rear gunner and provides Harper the chance to finish him off.
Temporarily free from Harper's pursuit, the smoking 109 turns toward Galik and yank, fires a quick burst, and wounds Galik with cannon fire. Seeing his friend get shot up, Harper, flying on pure adrenaline and rage, catches up to the 109 and sends him spiraling into the Channel. "Bates, I don't know how much longer we can keep this up. Galik's hit, he's flying a bit funny. I've got a flesh wound myself but should be fine, copy."
"Right you two, let's finish these Jerries off and get back to base quickly then, over."
Just then, one of the 109s disappears into a steak of smoke and flames, hit by a lucky flak shot. The last 109, the German flight commander, begins to drop altitude, hoping that the Spits won't want to follow him. He sees the Spits trying to turn and dive, but they're too fire off. Just as he takes a deep sigh of relief, his Messerschmidt convulses violently, hit by flak, and follows his comrades down into the unforgiving earth.
Arriving back at base, Bates and his wingmen land. Harper and Galik are rushed to an ambulance, but Bates gets word that they'll be alright and ready to fly again within the next two or three months. Heading back to his bunk, he's cornered by his mechanic.
"Cor Blimey, Yer One Lucky Basterd Bates! I've never seen a Spit fly back with so many bloody holes in it, and yer missing part of your tail!"
Bates stares back blankly. Muttering something about his lucky rabbit's foot, Bates turns and continues on his quest for a well deserved sleep.
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