Cold Peace

“What I’m going to do now,” Danny explained over the R/T, “is lead you back to Gatow on one of the two standard approaches from Hamburg. If the wind is out of the west or south, the approach is over Grunewald with a turn into the wind over the Havel, but if the wind is out of the east or north, the approach is over the Soviet Zone almost the whole way. I’ll show you that now.” 

“Very good, sir,” Emily acknowledged. She was about to congratulate herself on starting to feel more comfortable keeping station beside him when for a heart-stopping second, her cockpit went abruptly dark. It was as if the world had suddenly come to an end. Emily instinctively let out a cry of shock and fear. An instant later an aircraft skimmed over the roof of her cockpit before it plunged downwards just off her starboard bow. Instinctively, she yanked the Spitfire to the left to avoid a collision with the strange aircraft. The sensitive fighter responded so readily that she came within inches of a collision with Danny’s tail. With a gasp, she pulled back the other way, lifting her left wing in panic. Over her earphones, she could hear Danny cursing her. Then she heard him shout, “Here comes another one!” and decided maybe his cursing hadn’t been directed at her after all.

Emily pressed her mask to her face and managed to ask, “What’s going on?” 

“Soviet fighters. They’re just bullying us. Hold your station.”

Emily grimly concentrated on flying in formation on Danny’s flank as the next aircraft fell on them and shot past. This time as the cockpit darkened, she knew the cause and was not disoriented, but the belly of the other aircraft was so near she could see the rivets and oil stains. Her instinct was to flee not hold her course and speed.

“I hope they didn’t do this to Wing Commander Priestman,” Emily noted to Danny, as much to calm her nerves as anything. 

“Why?” Danny asked back surprised.

“Because I don’t know how he’d react,” Emily admitted.

“Our orders are not to react,” Danny answered, and Emily nodded. Somehow, she didn’t think Robin would just sit there letting them figuratively shoot him out of the sky. She saw the sun blink and instinctively made herself smaller in the cockpit anticipating another Soviet fighter. This time as he whizzed by, she looked over the side to follow him down with her eyes. In the next instant, a Spitfire sliced over the Soviet’s back in a curving dive from the beam, causing the Soviet aircraft to visibly lurch. Then one wing dipped, as the pilot searched the quadrant of the sky where the Spitfire should have been if it had dived down straight rather than arching in from the side. 

Meanwhile, Robin had executed a flick 180-degree vertical roll that nimbly turned the Spitfire in the opposite direction to come racing back. It flew over the Soviet fighter close enough to make the Soviet pull his head down and push the stick forward into a dive. 

“Ignore him,” Danny advised and reported to the tower. “Cutty Sark. This is Dragon Fly Blue Leader. We’re being harassed by a section of Soviet fighters and have now passed Frohnau on approach.”

“Dragon Fly Blue Leader this is Cutty Sark. What is your altitude?”

“4,000 feet.”

“Continue down to 2,000.”

A loud “THAK, THAK, THAK!” sounded so loudly over the RT that Emily flinched. The Spitfire responded by lifting a wing and almost sliding down the sky. Adrenalin flooded her veins as she hastened to correct her unintentional manoeuvre and her heart was thundering in her chest as Robin’s Spitfire flashed over her head to throttle back and settle down in front of Danny like a landing swan. 

“Very funny,” Danny commented.

“Dragon Fly Section, form a vic. Flying Officer, that means you formate on my port flank, with Squadron Leader Daniels on my starboard.” Emily dutifully changed her position and Robin gave her a thumbs up. “Cutty Sark, this is Dragon Fly Section passing Staaken.”

“Dragon Fly Section, turn left on 080 and descend to 1000 feet. Cleared for visual landing.”

“Dragon Fly Section, we will land in formation on the grass runway.”

Emily’s breathing wasn’t back to normal as they trundled, still in a vic, back towards the hangar. The entire ground staff of the station appeared to be on hand to receive them as if they’d seen or heard about the Soviet fighters. The pilots switched off their engines one after another, but Emily dutifully did all her cockpit checks before smiling up at the waiting fitter. He offered her a hand to help her out of the cockpit, which she accepted before decorously sliding off the wing to land on her feet. Here she paused ostensibly to remove her parachute but mostly to collect her shattered nerves. She was shaken both by the behaviour of the Soviet fighters and by the near collision. The worst of it, however, was knowing she dare not say a thing to either Robin or Danny. Both were combat veterans used to dogfighting.