Skies Darken

Early in 1942, we started to gain the impression that the war over the Skies of Europe is won
and that we gained upper-hand over Hans. Oh lord, how wrong we were.

I got a hole in my right wing!

For the moment, intercom served as the messager of grim news as I saw Blue One go down
in the spiraling fireball of death. The grace my squadron commander ruled the skies with
disappeared in the blink of an eye. In the rush of the moment, sudden emptiness overcame my
senses. Yet, soon afterward I realized that in the heat of air-combat there is no time to mourn
fallen comrades.

Red three! Yellow one. Ill take a lead.

I skipped back to my cockpit, informing rest of the squadron of my intentions. I didnt have to
tell them what happened to our squad leader. They knew better.

Looking for the plane which took our commander out of the battle, my gloved hands gripped
cold control stick even stronger as I lead my plane into sudden, burst-climb, using my rather
high cruise speed to my advantage. Mark. V were wonderful planes and we were confident
enough to use performance advantage over our opponents weaker machines.

And there he was. I gained a vision of the threat which took out my commander, my friend.
Spotting him at 10 oclock, I steadily lowered the climb my Spit, observing how my new
nemesis regained energy after taking out the Black Prince. I knew that white-washed 109
was trying to keep the distance from the numbers we held. What I didnt know was the fact
that our opponents re-armed their fighter-pilots with upgraded 109s, which would be known
as Friedrichs and Gustavs.

Following the 109 in white camouflage, I tried to utilize my superior engine and gain on him.
I sought revenge. I wanted blood. Shot him down and mix his blood with the boiling oil of his
crashed machine.

To my own misfortune, my comrades didnt respond. I have stuck alone in the Dark Blue
World, in an underpowered machine, against the enemy in a superior plane. It took me by
surprise when I spotted his plane sharply turn, leading himself into the head-on duel. The
combination of my hot, Slavic blood and veterans confidence, I accepted his challenge and
propped my plane towards his direction. We were at the same altitude, at about 6,000 meters,
leading towards each other like two raging bulls. To my own misfortune, his plane outclassed
me not only in terms of engine power but also armament.

He opened fire early. It took me by surprise when I spotted flashing lights heavily indicating
hard-pounding armament in the nose. I was used to Emils and their wing-guns. I pitched my
plane up and down, trying to avoid incoming fire and get close enough to use my wingmounted browning machine-guns to devastate my opponent.

Twenty-millimeter shells hit the fuselage of my plane. I believe it was Spitfires engine with
took most of the damage. I passed enemy fighter plane without any hits, only catching the
glimpse of smug expression. My rage clouded mind turned clear immediately after my
nemesis landed his shots. I didnt want to bail out and at the same time, my plane wasnt in a
state when I could continue this skirmish. Instead, I turned my plane into a dive, hoping that
109 would lose sight.

I dont know how I managed to do it. But I did. In a matter of seconds, I was flying at the sea
level, hoping my wrecked engine would lead me home. When I looked at me, I havent
noticed White 109 following me. Offering myself time to breath, I began to pray that my Spit
would carry me home safely.

The death of the Black Prince hit the morale of the squadron hard. He was the best pilot I
have ever met. This terrible event resulted in my promotion. Air Commander Tom Dude
Cummings personally awarded me with newly gained rank. While I had respect for the man,
our relationship couldnt be considered as the close friendship. In addition to my new rank, I
also gained batch of new planes. Tricky lads, men and women of Intelligence office. They
knew that enemy had received new planes, but didnt want to (or couldnt for some reason),
share this information with us.
Spitfire Mark Nines were wonderful machines. Powerful and graceful. Yet, with the
increasingly growing numbers in the RAF, I was destined to be the leader of the new
squadron, instead of retreating into my old unit. These young, inexperienced and hot-headed
pilots were to become my brothers-in-arms and together we would face the dangers of the
Darkening skies.