New blood
After a week in hospital Edwards was back at the base, ready to avenge his pilot. Arriving at the base he was immediately summoned to the wing commander.
"How are you, Edwards" asked the wing commander.
"I am fine, Sir, ready for some action."
"Fine, you will get your action. We have to attack an airfield this afternoon and I am assigning you to a new pilot"
Edwards was caught off guard, he did not want some fresh boy right out of flying school!
"Sir, with all due respect, but I rather have an experienced pilot.", tried Edwards to convince the wing commander, who would have none of it.
"Your wishes don't matter, this pilot will need an experienced navigator like you. And that's an order".
Edwards had to back down. That afternoon he watched the young pilot during the briefing. He was eagerly taking notes of everything the wing commander told.
Both men met in the cockpit of their mosquito.
"Hi, I am David Blake, I am your pilot", introduced the pilot himself.
"I know, let's get this show on the road, shall we?", was the blunt reply from Edwards.
The entire flight over the channel, Blake kept on talking. Edwards tried to ignore him, concentrating on getting the aircraft at the target.
"I volunteered for Spitfires, but in typical RAF fashion I end up here ..."
Edwards had it. "Could you please shut up. Those Gerrys won't wait with shooting untill you have finished blabbering away!".
Blake promtly went quiet. Instead he concentrated on flying the Mosquito at low level across the French countryside. It was now clear to him that his navigator did not like him very much. Suddenly he spotted tracer fire in the distances.
Edwards noticed them too:"There is the airfield, do you remember the target?"
"Yes, a couple of red barns, used to hide fighters", replied Blake.
Edwards could only see the back of Blakes head from his position, but it seemed that the young pilot went silent, concentrating hard on the target. At the edge of the airfield he could already spot the red barns. Blake steered the Mosquito straight towards them.
"BANG"
Some Flak exploded close to the tail, spooking Edwards: "Abort bomb run ?!"
"No," Blake ignored Edwards, "She is holding and we can still make it". Blake pressed on the attack ignoring the tracer fire and explosions around their aircraft.
"Bombs Away"
The bombs fell towards the barns. But the flak burst had offset their aim slightly. Two pair of bombs bore through the roof of the barn. One bomb smashed the wing of a parked Focke-Wulf while the second buried itself in the ground next to the fighter.
The first bomb which had severed the fighters wing was a dud, but the second bomb exploded, flipping the fighter upside down. Fuel inside the fighters tanks now exploded shredding the barn to pieces.
"Nice shot", yelled Edwards, just before Blake threw the Mosquito in a violent turn.
"What the hell are you doing?" cried Edwards, trying not to lose his lunch.
"I am going in again" replied Blake.
"Are you nuts?" was the only thing Edwards could reply. Going in again, would be suicidal. The German gunners would now have ample time to direct their fire.
"Storch, twelve o'clock low", said Blake with a calm voice.
Edwards could not believe that he was flying with the same pilot from before. During the crossing Blake had been yapping away, but now he seemed utterly calm while the madness went on around them.
Blake had spotted the Storch from the corner of his eye during the bomb run. The German pilot was trying to land, which explained why the ground fire was so low. The Germans did not want to shoot their own pilots out of the sky. The Storch was already very low. Blake would only have a single shot at it and he would have to pull up quickly to avoid crashing into the ground.
Edwards watched in horror throught the windscreen as the Storch and the ground below, moved up quickly on to them. The blazing of nose guns and cannons woke him out of his trance. Blakes first shot were too wide, kicking up dust next to the Storch. The line of dust moved towards the Storch, engulfing it in orange fireballs.
The Storch crashed short of the runway. Parts of the aircraft slid and bounced onto the outer marker of the runway. The German pilot had no change at all. Cround crew would find him, still strapped into his chair.
But the ordeal was not over for Blake and Edwards. They were to close to the runway, pulling up would expose the vulnerable belly of the Mosquito to the German ground fire, which now had erupt in all its glory. The Germans were throwing everything they got towards them.
With roaring engines, propeller tips almost touching the concrete, Blake flew the Mosquito across the entire lenght of the runway. Much to Edwards amasement they made it alive to the other end.
"Could you give me the quickest course to the coast?" he asked.
Edwards watched in silence, he could not answer. Then got a hold on himself and gave the course. Blake settled the aircraft on the new course. Both men sat in silence as they roared over the countryside, but just as they crossed the French coastline, Blake glanced back over his shoulder towards Edwards and smiled.
"Are you fine back there? Have I told you that I wanted to fly spitfires..."
