Navigator
James Edwards checked his maps for a final time, while the Mosquito raced through the sky. In front of him sat his pilot, Ed Meadow. Edwards had already flown twenty missions with Meadow. Both men formed a solid team in the skies above occupied Europe. Tonight they would roam once again the nightly skies in search for German nightfigthers and bombers. For weeks the Luftwaffe had sent out bombers against British cities. Command had decided that they would no longer wait untill the bombers arrived overhead. Instead the Mosquitos were ordered to take-off and roam the nightly skies , intercepting the German bombers as they prepared to cross the channel.
James watched the stars and the moon. It would be an ideal night for bomber hunting. Their destination was a German airfield near the coast. They would circle in front of it, in the hope of spotting some bombers or fighters taking off.
Above the French countryside a lone Dornier roared throught the sky. Its crew had been sent to Germany to pick up a replacement aircraft and was now heading to their base. But the sun was already settling, forcing the pilot to fly through the dark night. He did not like it , since the flak-operators had the habit of shooting at every engine they could hear in the dark sky. There was no other option then to flick on the navigation lights.
"Damned Hans, switch of those lights, they are ruining my night vision", complained the reargunner.
"Put a sock in it, do you want to play target practice for the flak?"
The reargunner decided not to counter that remark. Instead he squinted his eyes, trying to pearse through the night, looking out for danger.
"Lights on 3 o'clock", warned James.
They had crossed the channel without trouble and were now patrolling the French sky. James watched in amazement to the lights. He hardly could believe the Germans were so bold to fly with navigation lights. Were they so convinced of their invulnerability in the sky? They would soon learn that wartime skies are deadly.
Meadow banked the Mosquito behind the lights. James checked the sky for any friends from the German. Besides their aircraft and the German the sky was empty. As they got closer, he could make out the distinctive shadow of a Dornier bomber. The bomber kept flying in a straight line. James checked his maps. The bomber was heading for the nearby base. It appeared there would be no German night raid tonight.
In the Dornier, the reargunner tried to scan the sky behind them. But the navigation lights rendered his night vision useless. Suddenly he spotted a strange shadow. He pointed his gun to it, glancing over the barrel.
"Hans, shut off the nav lights", he ordered the pilot.
"I can't do ..."
"Damned, shut them ...".
Too late, yellow flames erupted from the shadows nose. Shells flew towards the bomber, which buffeted by the impact of exploding grenades. The gunner fired his gun, desperatly trying to hit the shadow, untill the wing broke off in a fiery explosions. The wingless bomber spiralled towards the ground, trapping its crew in their metal coffin.
"We got him", cried Meadow.
"We ain't home yet", answered James, "We have a leak".
He glanced behind the pilots back, where he had an exellent view on the port wing. Fuel was spilling out of the wing tanks. A quick look at the fuel gauge confirmed his fears, they were loosing fuel. The German gunner had placed one lucky shot, ruining their day.
"James, do we have enough fuel?", inquired Meadow.
James looked at the fuel gauges, quickly scribbeled some calculations on his notepad, before reaching his final, dreadfull conclusion.
"We have barely enough fuel to reach our coast, it will be close."
"Ok let's get home", Meadow was undeterred, he would fly his wounded bird back home.
They flew as slow as possible to minize fuel consumption, ignoring the occasional tracer fire from German Flak batteries. James recalculated their fuel consumption as they crossed the French coastline. It still would be close.
The two men sat silently in their cockpit as their aircraft crossed over the channel. Moonlight, reflected from the waves beneath them, illuminated their worried faces. With each passing minutes, precious fuel was burned, bringing them closer to home, but also close to a possible crash.
Suddenly the left engine stalled, deprived of fuel. Immediately both men started the emergency procedures they had drilled so many times. They feathered the propeller, reducing drag. But it was all in vain, because the right engine now stalled too, reducing the Mosquito into a heavy glider.
They could already spot the British coastline in the distance.
"We won't make it", said Meadow with a calm voice, "Prepare to ditch".
James stowed his maps and anything loose away. He knew that hitting the water would be like hitting a concrete wall.
The propeller tips were the first to hit the water, soon followed by the entire aircraft. James was thrown hard into his belts as the Mosquito, slammed into the water. Knocked unconscious, he only revived when cold water crawled up to his chest. The mosquito was sinking quickly. James unstrapped himself, just in time before the icy sea water flooded the entire cockpit. The canopy had been shatterd by the wall of water that had stopped their aircraft.
The Mosquito was going under, dragging its crew with it. James quickly pushed himself out of his seat, swimming towards the surface. Below him the Mosquito sank to the bottom of the channel, with Meadow still on board.
James gasped for air as he cleared the surface. He scanned for Meadow, whose lifeless body was sinking along with the Mosquito. James soon realised his pilot had perished. Floating in the icy water, he expected not to outlast his pilot long. Untill he spotted the shoreline. They had crashed only a mile out of the coast. Deciding he still wanted to live, James started to swim towards the coast.
The next morning, Homeguards troops found him unconscious on the beach. Undercooled, he was brought to the nearest hospital. As he awoke in a warm bed, James first saw his wing commander, who had come over to see his most experienced navigator who had just escaped death.
"Meadow?", asked James.
"I am sorry, James", was the only thing the wing commander could say.
"Please leave me alone." muttered James. As the wing commander left the room, James tried to fight back the tears and anger. He had lost his pilot and best friend. The Germans would have to pay for this.
End of this chapter
