Victory Roll

In this World of Warplanes-themed short story, a deadly battle takes place in the skies above France.

Victory Roll

“Hey Charlie! I got a new one off those Brits last night.”

“That’s great, Frank.” Charlie’s voice didn’t match the sentiment. His wingman had been prattling on over the radio since take-off.

The wingman, Frank, either didn’t notice Charlie’s apathy or didn’t care. “Right. So, there’s this guy. And he wants to kill himself. Life turned bad, wife ditched him, that kind of thing.”

“Uh huh.” Charlie idly listened whilst scanning the horizon for enemies. He turned a leisurely barrel roll and the landscape visible through the cockpit windows rotated.

Frank kept talking. “So he sits down on the railway line with a big sack of groceries and waits for a train to run him over.”

“That’s a damn fool way to kill yourself,” said Charlie.

“This policeman comes along. ‘Whatcha doin’?’ asks the cop. ‘Waiting for a train to run me over,’ says the guy. ‘Then why the sack of food?’” Frank gave his usual anticipatory pause before the punchline. “The guy looked up at the cop. ‘Well, given what the trains are like round here, I didn’t want to starve to death whilst waiting!’”

There was another pause before Charlie responded. “Ha ha, Frank.”

Frank didn’t notice the sarcasm in Charlie’s voice. He was too busy spluttering in laughter. “I didn’t want to starve to death! Oh man, those Brits are so dry.”

Charlie ignored him and concentrated on what he was doing – looking for enemy fighters. Not that he expected to find any. Fighter Sweep was about the most pointless and dullest duty that a guy could pull. The Luftwaffe were too smart to have fighter planes just randomly flying over the fields of France, so the chances of actually spotting anything were too low to be of interest. The whole point of Fighter Sweep was to be a deterrent to enemy activity rather than to actually fight anything.

Of course, some of the pilots craved missions as safe as Fighter Sweep. Junior Lieutenant Charles “Charlie” F. Haddon used to feel the same way, but a large number of ‘safe’ missions had presented him with a downside – Charlie had never actually defeated an opponent in combat. He had never been able to do the victory roll, the triumphant aerobatic feat performed by a pilot when returning to base after successfully taking down an enemy aircraft in battle.

“You’re chipper today,” said Charlie after a moment’s silence. There was still no sign of any enemies. Fighter Sweep was proving as fruitless as usual. Charlie just leaned back in his seat and enjoyed the experience of flying. It was a lovely spring day – the sky was bright and blue, and a multitude of white cumulus clouds cast shadows across the fields far below.

“Yeah, well you saw me do the victory roll last week,” replied Frank.

Charlie had indeed seen it. “So?”

“That puts me on four. I only need one more to be an ace.” American pilots needed to have five confirmed victories to be officially classed as a ‘flying ace’.

“Doubt you’ll get it on Fighter Sweep,” said Charlie despondently. He would settle for just one victory to his name.

“Yeah.” Frank didn’t seem to care. “Still, at least we get to play around with these babies.”

“True point.” Charlie did brighten up a little. Both pilots were flying in brand new P-51 Mustangs, recently issued for operations across France. The new planes had so far proved to be a delight to fly, responsive and powerful thanks to the Rolls-Royce Merlin engines. Charlie could barely hear Frank’s witterings over the radio – the whole aircraft throbbed with the sound of twelve exhausts mere feet away from his head in the cockpit. He gave a faint smile. This was true power – the sense of being a god. Victories or not, he loved every moment of it.

Charlie had named his Mustang Lady Liberty. The nose art depicted a caricature of the Statue of Liberty with a sword and machine gun instead of the usual book and torch that she carried. Frank’s Mustang was called Easy Times and his nose art featured playing cards, dice and wine glasses. Easy Times also had four tally marks on it, whilst Lady Liberty had none.

The two Mustangs roared over a French village, low enough to see people pointing up at them in the sky. “Hey, hey!” said Frank in his usual goofy tone at such moments. Charlie was sure he was waving, even though there was no way for the civvies on the ground to see the pilot.

They left the village behind and flew over expanses of fields and forest. It all looked utterly peaceful. It was hard to believe there was a war on and that the countryside below them was completely occupied by the German forces. Charlie just settled back and continued to enjoy the flight.

As always, it was Frank who broke the pleasant silence. “Hey Charlie, did you see that dame with Colonel Armstrong last night? She was something, right?”

Charlie was staring at a point of motion on the horizon. “That was his wife, Frank.”

“Wife? No chance! What would a beauty like that be doing with the likes of Armstrong?”

“Well, perhaps he looked – woah, did you see that?” Charlie leaned forward against his harness, peering through the cockpit window.

“Eh?”

Charlie stared across the skies, peering closely at the cumulus clouds dotted across the sky. “We got any other patrols out in this area?”

“Nope? You seen something?”

“Yeah. Get focused.”

He tipped Lady Liberty to turn to the northeast and started to head towards the sighting he had made – a black dot disappearing into one of the clouds. It was much too large to be a bird, and if it wasn’t an allied fighter…

Frank followed his movement, keeping his plane to one side and slightly behind – the perfect wingman position. The two Mustangs moved as one, with precision and grace, flying across the countryside straight towards the target cloud. They were rewarded as something burst out of the clouds towards them.

“Enemy sighted!” yelled Frank.

“German. Messerschmitt. 109.” Charlie pulled back on the throttle, easing up to get a better view. “Incoming fire! Break, break!”

Charlie and Frank’s planes parted away from each other as a burst of enemy fire struck through the air where they had just been.

“Is he alone?” asked Frank.

“Unlikely,” replied Charlie. “He’s Luftwaffe; they’re not stupid. Look for more.”

“Right.” Frank started to peel away, but before he could turn, another stream of enemy fire poured out of a second cloud to the east. Frank yelped as he dived downwards to avoid the hail of bullets. “That answers that one!”

Charlie didn’t respond. From the north, northeast and northwest, enemy fighters emerged from the clouds, converging straight towards him. “Holy smoke! Flight of three, all 109s. Spread and cover.”

“Already on it!” Frank’s plane did a roll as he twisted his dive into a controlled break to take him some distance away from Charlie, the idea being that they could cover each other without presenting a single easy target to the enemy.

Charlie banked and rolled the other way, getting quickly out of the firing line. As the G-forces pushed him back against his seat, he could see two of the three enemy aircraft doing much the same. The dance for positioning was in progress, and soon the fight would begin. So much for ‘quiet and safe’ Fighter Sweep. It seemed likely that the enemy flight had been out doing exactly the same as the two Americans.

Charlie pushed the switch trigger for his guns, firing at the nearest enemy fighter. He didn’t expect to hit anything, but it meant that at the very least the German pilot would have to exercise caution and give Frank a moment more to get into position. As expected, the Bf. 109 banked away. Now the dance could begin in earnest.

Continuing to communicate with Frank, Charlie decided to go on the offensive from the beginning. While they were outnumbered with three enemies against the two of them, the Mustangs were newer, more solid and more powerful aircraft. Charlie reckoned that evened the odds out somewhat.

It had been drummed into them at flight school that air combat was all about positioning and management of energy; balancing speed and altitude, and always, always knowing where the enemy planes were. Charlie could still see two of them, and Frank was reporting on the location of the third, so all were accounted for.

“We taking the offensive?” asked Frank over the radio. Although he was the more experienced of the two pilots, he was still the wingman on today’s mission, and so command rested in Charlie’s hands.

“You bet!” said Charlie, relishing the chance for a fight. Perhaps that victory roll would finally be his today. Or perhaps he would end up dead, a thought that sobered him somewhat.

He gently pulled back on the stick and opened the throttle to bring his P-51 up into a vertical climb. He smiled grimly as the Merlin engine responded perfectly without a single glitch. What amazing machines these new planes were! With a roar, the craft pulled up and away from the enemy fighters, beginning a manoeuvre known as the Immelmann turn. He glanced behind to see one of the enemies peeling off to chase him. Perfect.

Higher and higher he climbed, easily gaining the altitude needed. Just as he felt the engine begin to shudder, he flipped his plane over into a roll, turned 90 degrees and positioned himself so that he was now racing towards the enemy, but at a much higher altitude.

“Ah right!” yelled Charlie excitedly over the radio, sounding almost like Frank for moment. “Here we go!”

Not wasting the advantage of altitude that he had gained, Charlie immediately thrust his plane into an overhead attack. He rolled Lady Liberty onto her back and then downwards into a vertical dive, heading straight for the enemy aircraft below. If Charlie had been hoping that the German pilot was just going to sit there and take it, he was disappointed. The Bf. 109 banked to one side and into a roll, trying to break away from Charlie’s firing arc. When he was around 600 feet away, Charlie opened fire, but he was too slow and the enemy was out of range. Charlie shot nothing but air.

“Hey, good try,” said Frank consolingly on hearing Charlie’s curse words.

Charlie didn’t have a chance to respond. The German plane had already turned and was returning the favour. A spray of machine gun fire hurtled past his cockpit, several rounds clipping off the curved profile.

“Holy smoke!” he cried. With a half roll, he turned his plane over and then pushed the stick forward to drop into an inverted loop. He was aware of the enemy plane shooting right over him as intended, but as his plane plummeted downwards, he could feel the negative G-forces building up, pushing him tightly backwards, stifling his breathing even through his mask. He felt his head grow heavy and thick, the pressure on his stomach churning up the small amount of food that he had eaten, and white spots formed in front of his eyes.

He gritted his teeth, trying not to black out completely. Through the cockpit windows, he could see the ground rushing up to meet him. It took all his strength just to push the stick forward. The plane started to level out as it reached the bottom of the loop and turned back upwards into a climb. The G-forces suddenly reversed themselves and Charlie was left with a spinning head, but he was safe. As he reached his initial altitude, he performed another half roll to right himself.

“You alive?” asked Frank on the radio. “That was some grunting you were making.”

“Just about,” replied Charlie, hoping the spots in his eyes would clear soon. He scanned the skies, spotting the German fighter ahead of him in the distance. It had banked into a roll to make another pass back at him. There was a problem though – where was the other one?

“Frank? How many you got on you?” he asked, reluctant to admitting to losing an enemy, but not having another option.

“Two,” replied Frank. The sound of machine gun fire interspersed with the roaring of his engine interrupted his voice. “Thanks, bro. I love you too.”

“You talking to me?” asked Charlie, eyeing up his own enemy warily.

“Of course I’m-” The radio cut out and all that could be heard was white noise.

“Frank? Frank!”

The only response was static. Had Frank been shot out of the air? Charlie gazed across the horizon desperately, but couldn’t see any sign of his wingman. However, he did see the German fighter roaring straight towards him in an attack sweep.

“Dammit!”

Charlie rolled his plane out of the enemy’s targeting, and the stream of fire went harmlessly by. He narrowed his eyes. “Oh, now you’re going to die.”

He once again banked upwards into a climb, a manoeuvre which did nothing for his abused head, but did help him to once again obtain good positioning. He could see the German on his tail, trying to match his climb, but the power of the Mustang was greater than that of the Bf. 109, and he gained the distance easily. At a suitable height, he twisted into a loop. The enemy fighter shot beneath him and he levelled out. He was now behind the enemy, which was rapidly trying to turn to get out of the way. Charlie opened fire, this time managing to score a couple of hits on the cockpit and aerofoil, chipping away fragments of armour which spun and vanished in the slipstream.

“Yes!” cheered Charlie, although there was still only static on the radio in response.

The German seemed undeterred and fired back. Charlie barrel-rolled out of the way and once again dropped toward the ground, sacrificing height for speed. He swooped low over a number of farm outbuildings, the air vortexes he created alarming a flock of chickens which erupted from their coop in an angry hail of feathers. Slates flew off the roof of the barn and a bale of hay exploded into a fog of yellow straw.

Caught in the moment with all else forgotten, even the plight of Frank, Charlie laughed manically as he banked upwards again. This was true power. This was what it was like to be in control of the world!

A movement to the side grabbed his attention and the German fighter shot out of a cloud, guns blazing. Charlie twisted into a roll to face the enemy and attacked back at the same time. During the exchange, bullets ripped into his wings and slammed into the cockpit. None penetrated through – the Mustang had been very solidly built, but a jagged crack flashed across one of the thick plated glass windows.

The German fighter had fared much the same. Judging from the trail of black smoke that came from near the engine, Charlie reckoned he had hit one of the fuel tanks. The two planes closed in on one another, close enough that Charlie could see the German pilot in to the cockpit staring back at him. The man looked much the same as Charlie – young, keen, handsome and dedicated, just dressed in a grey flying jacket, mask and helmet instead of brown ones. No doubt he had a sweetheart back home, just like Charlie did. No doubt he had friends who told bad jokes and hit on commanders’ wives, just like Frank.

At this close range, neither pilot would risk opening fire – to do so would bring immediate retaliation and certain death for them both. As the enemy planes passed each other in the sky, the distance so close it felt like their wingtips were practically touching, the two pilots stared at each other, sharing a look of understanding and respect. And then the moment passed and the fighting resumed.

This time it was the German plane who sought to take the offensive first. He performed an Immelmann of his own, climbing high into the sky to gain the altitude, putting him in the better position. Charlie was able to track his movements by following the plume of black smoke still coming out of the back of the enemy plane.

As the German began to dive toward him, Charlie banked and rolled out of the way. It was time for the cat and mouse game to begin in earnest, although which plane was the cat and which was the mouse was a matter subject to debate and constant change. Back and forth went the two planes, each trying to out-manoeuvre each other. Charlie had the better plane, but it was easy to tell that the German pilot had far greater experience. It was well-known that the Luftwaffe had numerous flying aces with over a hundred victories to their name, making Frank’s desire to be an ace with five victories seem rather paltry in comparison. As for Charlie – he still had none.

Further fire was exchanged but neither of them managed to hit. The German plane was still spewing black smoke – if he was losing fuel, he might soon begin to limp off home and Charlie would once again be denied a victory. He gritted his teeth and decided that he would not be cheated in that way. As for Frank and the other two fighters, there was no sign.

Charlie hurtled over another village, the square of this one cleared of civilians who were no doubt hiding in their homes and bunkers from the war taking place overhead. The German plane was hot on his tail and another stream of machine gun fire threatened to turn him into dust. Charlie rolled to one side and then the other, trying to shake the pursuer from his tail, but to no avail. The German stuck tightly as if attached to Charlie’s plane with elastic, and yet again a hail of bullets tried to pepper his craft with holes.

Desperately, Charlie tried to bank upwards into a climb, but his hands were shaking, his edges frayed. He pulled too hard on the stick and Lady Liberty shot rapidly into the air, without control or finesse. After hurtling upwards for a few hundred feet, the engine coughed and spluttered. Numerous red warning lights began to flash inside the cockpit. Charlie frantically tried to ease off the power, but it was too late. The engine stalled.

As the twelve exhausts feel silent, it seemed to Charlie that the entire world had stopped. The sudden absence of noise was perhaps even more conspicuous than the engine sound had been when it was roaring. It felt like something had passed; a moment been and gone, and now all that was left was this deathly silence. For a long moment, Charlie sat absolutely still, not wanting to break the peace of this instant.

Bereft of power, the plane naturally levelled off, rolling gently in the breeze for a quiet moment before the right wing began to drop, forcing the plane to start banking to the right. Charlie stirred from his reverie, realising that as peaceful as this moment was, there was still an enemy fighter out there and he was currently a sitting duck. He looked around urgently for the German plane but couldn’t see it. Why hadn’t the enemy taken advantage of his helplessness? Somehow Charlie had got lucky – but if the German wasn’t shooting at him now then surely he must be planning something even worse.

The wing drop was normal and had been highlighted in the training films for the aircraft, which also fortunately explained how to resolve the problem – by releasing the pressure on the stick and adjusting the right rudder to level off the plane again. Once that was done, it was simply a matter of restoring engine power.

The Mustang was known for being a slow starter, due to the oil needed to heat up. However, after a stall, the oil was still piping hot, and so the plane started instantly with a judder and a roar. Shaking and bucking like a bronco, the Mustang was rearing to get straight back into the fight.

Charlie immediately opened the throttle and tossed the plane into a series of rolls, both to avoid enemy fire and to try and get a sighting on the German fighter, which had taken advantage of the distraction to slip into hiding, no doubt to prepare an ambush. So that’s what it had been doing whilst Charlie’s plane had stalled. Charlie cruised through the skies, scanning the clouds for any sign of moment. “I know you’re there…” he said, although from the radio there was still nothing but static. “You can hide…”

Charlie’s Mustang roared into one cloud after another, hunting for his enemy. A flash of black, a movement to his left triggered his reflexes, and he banked into a roll, shooting off a stream of machine gun fire before realising that the sighting had been nothing but a bird.

“Dammit Charlie. Get a grip!”

His hands were wet in his gloves, and beads of sweat dripped down his face from under his helmet. This was a game of hide and seek with a deadly outcome. It was tempting to just burst through the clouds to hunt down the enemy plane, but Charlie was well aware that the Bf. 109 was hunting him as much as he was hunting it. At this stage of the fight, whoever saw the other first was certain to get the killing shot.

There was still no sign of the other two planes from the enemy flight. Perhaps Frank had shot them both down and headed home. It was a better thought than imagining the worst.

The engine roared loudly in his ears as he ploughed through the pale mists of the clouds, seeking his foe. Through the cockpit windows he could see nothing except the white fog, and the lack of vision combined with the overwhelming noise made him feel like the entire universe had ceased to exist. There was just him and his plane in this wide empty nothingness.

But he couldn’t hide in the clouds forever, and neither could his enemy. As Charlie emerged from one particularly large cloud, the mists dissipating around him, he finally caught sight of what he was looking for – the German plane, a clear black spot against the horizon heading away from him, still trailing a thin plume of black smoke.

“Here we go,” muttered Charlie to himself as he carefully lined up his shot. The German hadn’t spotted him yet, and while surprise was an advantage he intended not to lose, he also didn’t want to hurry too much and risk missing. To do so would simply kick the whole game off again.

Charlie focused completely, putting aside all distractions. There was just him and the target. Nothing else mattered. Nothing else even existed. A few seconds passed as Charlie waited for the perfect moment… and then he pushed the trigger.

The machine gun juddered as it expelled a stream of bullets, which flew through the air and struck the target one after the other. Shards of the plane skin flew off as it was struck over and over again. Rounds embedded themselves in the wings, tail and fuselage, ripping holes through the plane as they struck. Others struck the propeller and engine. The stream of black smoke thickened and spurts of fire spat out from the fuel tanks.

Charlie saw the enemy plane wobbling out of control and shot it twice more. He couldn’t hear anything over the sounds of his own engines, but his imagination filled in the rest: the cracking of the plane’s structure, the stuttering of the engine, the drone of the propeller spinning out of control. The crackle of flames, the whistle of air through the holes in the fuselage. Charlie shuddered as he watched the enemy fighter tip over and begin to tumble towards the ground. A black speck detached itself from the main body of the plane – the pilot ejecting. The image Charlie had seen of the pilot’s face came to mind and he smiled, feeling relieved that the man was likely to live, although whether he would return home to Germany or face capture depended entirely on where he landed and who found him..

The skies fell quiet and still once more. The only movement came from a flock of birds which took off from a copse of trees and headed south. With the business of warfare concluded for now, Charlie banked around and started to speed off through the skies back towards base. There was still no response from Frank on the radio and he didn’t want to risk entanglement with potentially two more enemy fighters without backup. Not to mention that after all the intense activity putting a drain on the engine, his fuel levels were starting to reach low levels. The Mustang responded immediately to his use of the controls, and with a roar the plane turned towards home.

An hour later the base came into sight. The afternoon had worn on and sunset wasn’t far off, and so the ground was covered in long dark shadows tinted with red and orange. The runway was lit with electric lights and as Charlie approached, the communications with the tower ran as normal.

“Seen action?” asked the flight co-ordinator over the radio, having noticed the damage to Charlie’s Mustang.

“Just a bit,” replied Charlie. “I-” He suddenly gasped. In all the excitement of the fight and the worry over the fate of Frank, he had almost forgotten! Knowing that everyone was on the ground watching him, he opened the throttle and with a roar of engines, he did a victory roll – his first ever. “This one’s for you, Frank,” he said to himself, hoping that his wingman would yet limp in.

After landing, Charlie was welcomed home as a hero. Excitedly, he reported on his exploits to the other pilots and prepared for a formal briefing. He was interrupted by the sound of another plane returned, and he hurried outside to look, his face immediately erupting into a broad grin. Frank’s Mustang limped into view, spewing smoke but otherwise intact. The reason for the radio silence became obvious – his antenna had been shot off.

As Charlie watched, Frank swung his plane and turned over twice – two Victory Rolls for two enemies defeated.

“Better warn your wife,” said Charlie to Colonel Armstrong, who was standing next to him. “We’ll never hear the end of it.”

As Frank’s plane landed, they all headed back inside. The excitement might be over for now, but in the thick of this world war, tomorrow was a whole new day.

By Alex Helm, April 2013.