The German Junkers were flying in formation over the desert. The pilots preferred to fly at night under cover of darkness but problems with supply shipments meant that they had to take off as soon as they could. Based on the Italian island of Sicily they would run down the Mediterranean to Gabes in Tunisia, make a drop and then continue down the coast before returning to Sicily. The Junkers carried a crew of five.

Bill Smith's Spitfire V was at the head of the squadron and he was the first of the British pilots to spot the German convoy ahead. He clipped his mask over his face and flicked the radio switch.

"All right boys this is it. Our target is two thousand yards. We won't expect any return fire if we take them by surprise but watch out for fighters. They won't be far away. Now report in and good luck."

One by one the planes called out their positions. Bill could hear the excitement in Jimmy's voice. Tommy kissed the photograph of Mary and placed it over his instrument panel. He did this every time he flew. He felt that this was what kept him alive, to know that she was watching over him.

Bill Smith now banked his Spitfire to begin climbing to gain height for their attack. He checked his rear view mirror to make sure the others were following. They would fly around and come at their enemy broadside giving them a larger target to do more damage.

In the lead Junkers pilot Lerndorfer Kubermann looked nervously out to his right.

"What is it?" his co-pilot Gert Hunse asked him.

Kubermann continued to study the sky.

"Lerndorfer?" Hunse called.

Kubermann watched for a further few moments and seeing nothing he turned back.

"It's nothing. I thought I saw fighter planes for a moment but I didn't see them again."

Hunse leaned forward to look past his crew mate. He couldn't see anything either.

"We're getting a new batch of ME109's. Maybe you saw some of them," Hunse said.

"Hopefully you are right," Kubermann replied checking the surrounding sky again.

Bill Smith pushed forward on the joystick and his Spitfire V went into a perfect dive. He watched his airspeed indicator as it passed three hundred miles per hour. Three times the speed of the German Junkers. He levelled out at three hundred and twenty five feet and closed for the kill.

Kubermann heard him coming. He looked out of his side window to see the flashes from the Spitfire's machine guns. Moments later they struck his plane. The bullets ripped through the wooden and canvas sides ricocheting horribly as they struck steel girders. The attacking Spitfire banked and screamed past the Junkers, turning directly in front of it.

Kubermann was frantically shouting into his radio, calling for assistance. His eyes widened when he heard the response. The nearest German fighters were twenty five miles away!

The other Spitfires tore in now, bullets eating into German aircraft.

"We're sitting ducks up here!" Kubermann screamed into his headset.

The answer came back again.

"The nearest fighters to your position are twenty five miles from your location. They are being scrambled. Long live the Fuhrer!"

Kubermann tore his mask away.

"The Fuhrer can kiss my behind. We are on our own boys," he said to his crew.

"Do you want me to tell that to the others?" Hunse asked.

"No. Just that help is on its way."

Hunse did as he was told.

"They will arrive far too late to save us," Kubermann said sourly, watching the Spitfires flying in a circle.

Bill Smith brought his Spitfire round keeping his eye on the Junkers. The heavy German planes were flying much slower than the British fighters so all Bill could do was strafe and run. The best way to bring a plane down was from behind. Bill brought his Spitfire round in a complete circle and opened fire at the first plane he could target. He could see the red hot tracer as it found its mark and Bill was pleased to see, as he banked, a plume of black smoke trail from one of the German engines.

The third run brought a Junkers critical damage. It began losing height and suddenly exploded in mid air. The English pilots cheered the first casualty. Pieces of burning debris rained down from the sky. The German pilots were changing direction constantly to try to avoid the British firepower but the heavy transporters were too cumbersome to respond quickly enough.

By the time the first of the Messerschmitt's arrived twenty minutes later they witnessed a scene of total carnage. The British Spitfires were buzzing about like angry bees amongst the much bigger Junkers. Of the transporters most were damaged, many were trailing black smoke, some were on fire and some were literally dropping out of the sky and crashing into the desert.

Jimmy was about to fire another burst at a Junkers when bullets ripped down the side of his Spitfire.

"Hey who the hell just fired at me?" he screamed into his headset for of course mistakes did happen. He looked into his rear view mirror.

"Hey that looks like a Messerschmitt."

"ENEMY FIGHTERS! ENEMY FIGHTERS!" Tommy Burke was frantically shouting.

Now the battle was joined.

"Stay in amongst the transporters," Bill said "Don't let yourselves be drawn off. They'll be reluctant to hit their own side."

"Oh God! I've got one on my tail," Jimmy screamed as he turned this way and that trying to shake off the German fighter. Finally he turned quickly and in the same instant sent his plane into a dive which shook the Luftwaffe pilot off.

"Phew that was close," he said looking out to both sides expecting to see black smoke and flames.

"I'm hit," he said "But I don't think it's bad."

Bill had recognised his brothers voice.

"Are you able to continue?"

"Affirmative."

Bill nodded to himself.

He never gave his brother preferential treatment over any of the others. He banked his Spitfire, couldn't find a fighter to target and opened up on a Junkers. The spray of bullets was devastating to the slow transporter and Bill grinned as he saw flames from one of the engines. As Jimmy passed the Junkers it exploded. He was so close to it that the blast rocked his plane out of control and sent him into a dive. Jimmy fought frantically with his controls. To his horror he saw another transporter only yards in front and he instantly knew he couldn't avoid it. Instinctively he threw his hands up in front of his face. The right wing of his Spitfire sliced three quarters of the way through the body of the Junkers just in front of its tail. Jimmy's plane went into a spinning, vertical dive. He fought desperately to gain control and with difficulty he managed to slow the spin. Looking out to the side dread filled him as he saw that his right wing was missing. Knowing that he had no chance of saving his Spitfire Jimmy reached for his harness fastener. He would bale out as soon as he could. It was stuck. He tried it again. He pulled at the belts across his shoulders. Still stuck. He told himself not to panic. He would try the belts again in a moment. The spinning was starting to make him feel sick. He reached for the canopy release, fumbling with it because of the spinning.

The Rolls Royce Merlin engine burst into flames.

Jimmy saw it and panic set in. He tore frantically at the belts that were trapping him.

"Oh God! Oh God!"

He tried the canopy again but couldn't find the release handle. The two small windscreens in front of him both shattered and the smoke from the fire began filling the cockpit, choking him.

"Oh God! Bill! Bill!" he was screaming for his brother. But Bill didn't hear him.

Bill was on the tail of a Messerschmitt, his guns blazing red hot bullets at the enemy fighters tail which was already shattered from numerous hits. The German pilot struggling to stay in control. Then the tail snapped off and the Messerschmitt went into a fast spin. The G-Forces making it impossible for the pilot to escape. The spinning ME109 collided with another Messerschmitt and they both exploded. Bill saw it as he banked. He watched the burning debris fall to earth.

"Does that count as two?" he asked into his radio.

"Good shooting," Bill heard Don Foster's voice over the radio.

"How are we doing out there boys?" Bill asked.

"Oh shit. I've got one on my tail," Jack Meadows called out.

Bill Smith could see jack's Spitfire. It was being tailed by not one but two Messerschmitt ME109's. Bill pushed forward on his joystick.

"Hold on Jack I'm on my way."

"Hurry Bill I can't seem to shake them off. I'm going toa."

His voice was cut off by the whine of bullets.

"Jack! Jack!" Bill could see his friends plane had been hit. Jack slowly put his flying mask back over his face. He could taste blood in his mouth. The last burst of German machine gun fire had ripped holes in his Spitfires body. His canopy windows had been smashed. The force had knocked his mask off and flying glass had cut his face and neck. His left leg was in pain and it felt heavy. Slowly he reached down with his hand and felt around his knee. He brought his hand up in front of his face. It was covered in blood. His blood! He tried putting his left foot on the foot pedal to control the wing flaps but he found he couldn't put enough pressure on it to move them sufficiently to escape the enemy fighters. Bill Smith sighted the stricken Spitfire and the two ME109's and he honed in on them. The first of the fighters sprayed Jack's Spitfire with a huge burst of machine gun bullets and then peeled off just as Bill caught up. He closed in on the rear German fighter. The German pilot unaware grinned as he closed in for the kill. The Englishman was a sitting duck. The German put his finger on the fire button and stopped as bullets spattered up both sides of his aircraft. He checked his mirror and could see the Spitfire behind him. Angry blobs of red metal eating the distance between them as more bullets chewed up his planes body. He took evasive action and rolled his Messerschmitt away to the left. Jack Meadows could see in his mirror that the attack had been called off.

"They've gone Jack."

"Thanks Bill. I took some damage."

"You've got smoke coming from your engine."

"I'm pretty shot up. I've taken one in the left leg. Can't put any pressure on it. It's not bleeding too bad. I'm hoping it's missed the artery. Hurts like hell though."

"Get yourself back to base Jack. You're done here."

Jack heard the words and despite the pain he was in and the damage done to his Spitfire he didn't want to leave his friends and comrades in the fight.

These men lived together, they fought together, they would die together.

"Your engine is smoking," Bill repeated "Now get yourself out of here."

"Roger that," Jack said. He gave one final machine gun burst at a fighter that flew across his path and pushed his stick forward to lose altitude. Once at distance he looked back at the air battle. The larger bombers flying on in straight lines while the small fighters buzzed about them like angry wasps. Black trails of smoke hung in the air. He saw a Junkers literally fall apart in two pieces. The parts falling slowly to earth.

Tommy Burke was on the tail of not one but two Messerschmitts. They were both weaving from side to side trying to avoid him. So far he hadn't fired at them. Suddenly they broke knowing Tommy couldn't follow them both. He stayed with the one that banked left. The German plane straightened up and Tommy closed in for the kill. He didn't see the second one, which had performed a huge circle in the sky and now straightened up and came at him.

Head on!

Tommy opened fire on the fighter he was tailing. He saw one side of the German plane rip up as his bullets hit home. The plane banked away and Tommy froze as he saw the Messerschmitt coming straight at him.

Almost as if in slow motion. Almost as if in a dream. Tommy saw the flash from the enemy machine guns. Time seemed to stand still for a moment. Tommy could hear only silence, then he heard his heartbeat, faster and faster. The small windows around him shattered and the bullets thumped into his chest, winding him.

The Messerschmitt veered away with a second to spare.

Tommy knew he was hit. Knew he was dying. He tried to draw a deep breath, tried to speak into his headset but couldn't. He wanted to say goodbye to his friends.

Strangely Tommy felt no pain. Just a heaviness that he couldn't understand. He tried to lift his fingers to feel his chest but they were too heavy and he couldn't move them. He felt giddy, light headed, tired. He hadn't drawn a breath in nearly a minute. The tiredness was overwhelming now and all he wanted to do was close his eyes. Slowly his head dipped forward onto his chest. His hands slipped off the joystick and his Spitfire began a very long, slow, descent to earth. Bill Smith saw a Spitfire flying on in a straight line, losing height.

He called out to it.

No reply.

He called again.

"Does anyone know whose plane that is?"

"It looks like Tommy Burke," came over the radio.

"Tommy! Tommy! Are you receiving?"

No answer.

"Did anyone see if he was hit?"

"His plane looked pretty shot up Bill."

A Messerschmitt blasted right across Bill's nose. So close he felt he could have reached out and touched it. Bill looked for Tommy's Spitfire again but couldn't see it anymore.

"Has anyone seen my brother?"

No reply.

"Jimmy. Jimmy."

Only static came back.

Then there was a sudden.

"Whoohoo!"

"Hey did you see that?"

"Who's doing all the yelling?"

"Squadron leader they're Americans."

Bill studied a plane as it whooshed past him. He saw the white stars on its wings.

"Thought you boys could do with a little help," an American accent was heard over the airways.

"I notice you've turned up now all the hard work is done," Bill said genuinely happy to see the Americans.

"Looks like you boys have been in the thick of it."

"I've lost nearly half of my squadron to those damned fighters."