Preamble.
As he climbed away "Skimmer" Stones looked back at the devastation that he had caused to the German airfield.
Not bad work for a cluster of Cooper bombs. the real luck had been the hit on the fuel storage tanks. The blaze had involved at least two hangers, one of which must have had munitions in it.
They finished the job most satisfactorily. Now all he had to do was get the crate back in on piece and face the wrath of Major Kyte.
His mind wandered back to the previous day, when Kyte had gone ballistic over the bevy of Rookies who had been slipping off to bomb German airfields without permission. The Major had been most emphatic about what would happen to the next fool to try the stunt, and yet here he was over the lines with what amounted to a stolen aircraft under him.
If only the chaps had not taken the Crossley into Germaine St. Dennis on that evening three weeks ago, they would never have met up with the French , got drunk, and accepted the silly challenge to see who could destroy the most Germans on the ground by the end of the month. Whatever Major Kyte had said, it was now a matter of honour for the Squadron no matter the consequences.
As he muse on this and approached the lines he was totally oblivious to the fact that something far more dangerous than the wrath of his Co. was about to decend upon him from above.
Rob.
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