IC-Ep 1-The Battle of Britain(John Barrow only)

[Mr. Handy]

London, England
9:00 PM - Saturday, September 7. 1940



Group Captain John H. Barrow flew his Hawker Hurricane through the skies over East London. His wingman, Flight Lieutenant David Jones, flew a Supermarine Spitfire, which was a superior aircraft, though there were not enough of them. There weren't enough Hurricanes either, for that matter. Jones had been a Welsh coal miner until September 3, 1939, when he had enlisted in the Royal Air Force as soon as war was declared. He had often said that flying was safer than working in the coal mines, and John couldn't be sure if he was kidding or not. It might have been true during the Phoney War, but the last few months had taken a toll on the RAF. Too many of the men he had flown with weren't around any more.

The two fighters soared towards a squadron of Heinkel He 111 bombers they had spotted which were escorted by a pair of Messerschmitt Bf 109 fighters. The bombers had just dropped their deadly payloads and done their damage and were now trying to escape, but it was still worth shooting them down. Every bomber and crew that didn't make it back to France was one less that would return to haunt them later. Jones waggled his wings and sped ahead to engage the two German fighters and draw them away from the bombers. That was his job, as he flew the Spitfire. John's Hurricane, the less effective fighter, would go after the bombers. Once the fighters had been diverted, he dove on his target, lining up his fighter's 20mm cannons...

Spoiler:

John, please roll Machine Gun.

[DrPeterson]

"Good luck, Jones. Last one back is buying and I feel like something expensive tonight."


John followed the Spitfire with his eyes as the fighter quickly outpaced his and then looked at his targets. The Heinkels had massive damage sustainability, but virtually no point defence systems. Slow and steady would do the trick.
He matched the Hurricanes trajectory with that of the outermost bomber and lined up his shot. He took a deep breath and as he exhaled he squeezed the trigger of his machine guns.

Spoiler:

Machine Gun 50%,

DrPeterson rolled 1d100:
22

He smiled as he heard the steady rattle of his machine guns joined by the dull thud of his bullets tearing into the fuselage of the German bomber.

[Mr. Handy]

John's rounds chewed up one of the Heinkels. Though the bomber looked tough, its defenses were weak, especially when attacked from above. John's fire tore right through it, and it began to spiral down, black smoke pouring from one engine.

Before he could celebrate or turn on a second bomber, the Hurricane juddered as machine gun bullets riddled it from behind. He had been so focused on his target that he hadn't seen that one of the Messerchmitts had doubled back and was now on his six. The engine made a worrying series of sounds and then stalled.

Spoiler:

John, please roll Pilot Fighter.

[DrPeterson]

Damn it, Jones!, he ejaculated, despite knowing he'd made the mistake of all too eagerly focusing on his target.

He pulled his throttle trying to force the engine back to life.

Spoiler:

Pilot: Fighter,

DrPeterson rolled 1d100:
23

[Mr. Handy]

John managed to get the engine to restart and regained control of the plane, jerking the stick to get out of the line of fire. As he swerved to the side, he caught sight of Jones's Spitfire coming up behind the Messerchmitt. Machine guns spat death, and the German fighter on John's tail fell out of the sky, crashing and burning somewhere below. The other 109 had broken off, showing some damage, and was escorting the remaining bombers off to the southeast, towards the Channel. Having dumped their bombs, there was no reason for them to stick around any longer.

"Sorry, mate," came David Jones's voice over the radio. "That one got away from me for a bit, but I got him. Your left wing's on fire, by the way." Glancing to the left, John could see the blaze on the wing. It was small right now, but it would no doubt spread.

[DrPeterson]

John swore. The elation he'd felt when the enemy fighter turned into a ball of fire and smoke, quickly disappeared as he saw the flames lick at his wing tip.

"Don't worry, David, you did right.
That's at least two that be flying back to
bring good news to the Fuhrer.
I'm going to try and kill the fire by raking a cloud. You go and head on back home and order me a dry martini."

John didn't feel half as confident as he was trying to convey. He took a deep breath and pulled up, trying to find a suitable cloud.

Spoiler:

Luck?,

DrPeterson rolled 1d100:
66

[Mr. Handy]

"Right, sir," said David Jones, "but you're paying for it. Like you said, last one back. See you back at base." With that, the Spitfire zoomed off to the northwest.

As luck would have it, there wasn't a cloud in sight - unless one counted all the clouds of smoke from the flames below. Of course, flying through one of those wasn't likely to help. As John looked in vain, the flames crept further up the wing and neared the fuselage, where the fuel tank and the engine resided - not to mention him. The wooden frame meant the fire would spread quickly, and he had no means of extinguishing it.

[DrPeterson]

"Not again", John thought and sighed deeply.
He double checked his parachute and steered the Hurricane towards the Thames as best as he could before ejecting.

[Mr. Handy]

John steered the blazing fighter southwards over a canal that led out towards the Thames. He opened the canopy and leapt from the plane before the flames reached the fuselage. When he had dropped far enough, he pulled the ripcord. Silk blossomed as his chute opened, slowing his descent. The wind blew him towards a flattened pile of rubble where until tonight a building had stood in a row of warehouses. A knot of people stood in the street nearby.

Spoiler:

John is moving to the thread linked below.

Prisoners of Time