Thirty-fifth

Thirty-fifth

A Story by Diablo0153
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A short story i put together a while ago. I try to keep them as historically accurate as possible. If you would like to read another one, you can search for me (same username) on Deviantart.

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35

                My name is Vlad. I grew up in Bucharest Romania alongside my brother and my mother. At the age of 18 we entered the college taking courses in aeronautics. At 21 we started doing the only thing we were good at, piloting.

      During our first 2 years as pilots we focused on acrobatics. In the air, we felt like kings. There were no constraints of poverty or society, no rules to be followed, just pure freedom. We were the aces of our squad. I regularly performed for the public in the Heinkel He 111 german airplane that the national airforce provided each time they needed a demonstration of our military’s piloting skills. Of course I didn’t work for the military, but the public wasn’t  supposed to know that. I made good money doing that. However, my brother Alex wasn’t really too fond of twirling around and doing tricks for the public, but he was a great strategist, he would always beat me at chess.

                At the age of 24 we were both certified pilots. After our mother died we both decided to go our separate ways. He moved to Germany and I moved to Britain. We kept in touch through letters. Everything went well. I was able to support myself doing what I loved. Perfect you might think. Until, in 1939, because of the political turmoil of the time, we lost all contact with each other.

                The Second World War the media called it. Germany expanded fast and soon enough Britain started taking damage from the Nazi attacks. Many soldiers died defending the shores. Many pilots crashed. However I was able to escape any kind of military service. I was scared for my brother and scared to fight.

                One night, in September 1940, I woke up to a horrible sound. I went outside to see what’s going on, but all I could see were flames rising from London. Bombs were falling one after the other, destroying everything you could imagine. I took cover in my basement and tried to get some sleep in hope the nightmare would end. In the morning a friend of mine rushed over and asked me to come with him to the local airbase. All he said that they were looking for pilots. As I got there I was presented with a large sum of money and a brand new Spitfire. I was rather obliged instead of invited to take it along with the military uniform.

                During that whole day we were briefed on how to fly the new fighter planes and defensive strategies. The class was rather easy for my experience, but then came the night. Again the fight was on above London, though this time I was not hiding in my basement but I was in the air fighting the aggressors. I was leading the 5 man squadron (including the best friend that brought me to the airport) right in the middle of London. Nine German Messerschmitts were defending their bombers. Using the element of surprise we were able do take 3 of them out by flanking. The remaining 6 chased us around like the hunter chases a rabbit. Thankfully our planes were more agile and had better handling so I used my acrobatics to escape the enemy fire with ease. The same could not be said about my crew. They were slaughtered by the firepower of the enemy aircraft. After what seemed like an eternity, I managed to destroy all the remaining fighters along with the bomber they protected. The fight was over. Upon landing I was greeted by an officer that handed me a medal for my achievement. He said it was a proud victory, but it can hardly be called a victory when your whole team including your best friend dies. As the days passed, my takedown counter increased more and more, only suffering three emergency landings. By the fifth day from the initial attack, I had already achieved 34 confirmed kills. After each dogfight I would receive the dog tags of all the enemy pilots I killed. It was hard to see 34 names which might have had a wife waiting for them, or children priding on them.

                Almost two weeks after the first bombing of London, intelligence arrived that there would be a great attack in a couple of hours. I was already at the airbase when the news arrived. I quickly jumped in my Spitfire and, alongside two of the best pilots in the base, I took off. The headquarters managed to scramble about two hundred aircraft in the air before the enemy arrived. We were divided into teams each consisting of 3 pilots. My team and 2 others were supposed to be in the front line and engage first. As soon as we saw the enemy line, all hell broke loose. There were indeed many. Almost  four times our numbers. The fight went on and on for about an hour. I managed to survive everything miraculously until one very agile pilot followed my tail in a Focke Wulf. He shot my fuel tank and I was losing oil fast. I managed to avoid most of his attacks but he barely gave me any chance to fight back. After 10 minutes of tumbles and tricks and shooting at him when I got the chance I managed to hit him. For a few seconds nothing happened… He simply started to descend faster and faster. His plane wasn’t on fire and his engine was still running. I had no idea what I did. The enemy plane crashed lightly on a field below and I was about to do the same as I was running out of fuel.

                Quickly I hit the ejection button and managed to deploy the parachute just in time. My Spitfire crashed loudly almost near the enemy Focke Wulf. When I finally touched the ground, I decided to go take a look at the enemy aircraft and get the pilot’s dog tag myself. I was feeling proud to have taken down such a worthy opponent.

                When I reached the aircraft I noticed it was almost intact, but there was only one bullet hole in the windshield.  I slowly opened the glass to the cockpit… my eyes were full of tears, my heart was racing and I fell into the cockpit.” I shot my brother”.

© 2012 Diablo0153


Author's Note

Diablo0153
I hope you like it.
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Added on May 22, 2012
Last Updated on May 22, 2012
Tags: short story, world war 2, WW2, airplanes, pilot, Romania, 35, Thirty-fift, drama

Author

Diablo0153
Diablo0153

Bucharest, Bucharest, Romania