“Reading you loud and clear, Phoenix-One… Orders received and understood…”
“Stay out of the Hindsight area until cleared to land, Top Hat,” Davies added, relieved they were all up to speed and that he and Trumbull suddenly had some welcome assistance. “Ground batteries on base are cleared to fire on any aircraft that approaches within a four thousand yard radius and will do so… proceed with caution… over.”
“Information noted and understood, Phoenix-One — thank you for the advice. Have sighted low-level raiders and turning in to engage now… Tally Ho, chaps!” Better late than never, twenty-four long-promised British fighters Davies couldn’t yet see threw themselves into the fray.
Ritter and his aircraft were just five kilometres south-east of South Ronaldsay as an alert call came in from the escorting fighters of I/JG54. The sudden appearance of RAF Mustangs from the south was totally unexpected (even the existence of a previously unknown aircraft was itself a complete surprise) and it was the Luftwaffe pilots’ turn to be caught unawares by the appearance of an unidentified and powerful new opponent.
The Mustangs came in from much higher altitude, using the sun at their backs to blind their quarry until the last moment. The fighters of 93 and 96 Squadrons wore the standard RAF temperate land scheme camouflage of brown and green patches, and unlike their photo-reconnaissance relatives, they were all armed with a pair of high-velocity 20mm Hispano cannon in each wing firing outside the disc of the propeller. They were at least the equal of the J-4A in performance, manoeuvrability and firepower, and their pilots — all drawn from experienced units — were also equal to the challenge of JG54 Grunherz.
Five unsuspecting J-4As were stricken by cannon fire in the first pass, and another two were so badly damaged they were forced to break away from combat. As drop tanks fell from the bellies of the remaining J-4As, the two waves of Mustangs streaked past unscathed through their ranks, their dive speed carrying them on toward the lower-flying S-2D Lions the German fighters had been tasked to protect. Two Mustangs pressed their attacks too closely and were shredded by fire from several rear gunners’ twin 13mm guns, but the attack nevertheless signalled the destruction of three S-2Ds and forced another two to dump their weapon loads and extra fuel in order to escape pursuit, the end result being that I/ZG26 had been effectively stripped of five attack aircraft in one pass.
With the benefit of surprise lost however, the RAF fighters now found themselves engaged in a twisting, low-level dogfight with the remaining J-4As as the S-2Ds opened their throttles and continued on toward their target. The battle was evenly-matched, with both aircraft exhibiting similar performance and manoeuvrability at low level, however the German fighters’ ability to delay the Mustangs was all that was required for them to accomplish their mission: even if the RAF was ultimately victorious, the delays the dogfight created would be enough to ensure the Lion attack aircraft reached their target safe from pursuit. The S-2Ds swept on in formation, passing over the east coast of South Ronaldsay close to the centre of the island.
As they crossed water once more on the other side of South Ronaldsay, the destruction already meted out by strategic bombing became clearly visible for the first time. Smoke rose along a broad stretch of the horizon; thick, black smoke with the flickering of red flame at its base. The pilots of ZG26 could see little else at that distance, but it was clear that serious damage had already been done. Ritter was about to advise his men to drop tanks and prepare for attack as something trailing grey smoke, travelling impossibly fast snapped across his nose and the first of six AIM-120 missiles exploded in the formation’s midst.
Five were either direct hits or detonated close enough to destroy an aircraft, each missile tearing its target from the sky, but at such a low level it was more difficult even for an advanced missile like the AMRAAM to pick targets out of ground clutter. The sixth missile had been targeted on Willi Meier’s S-2D and resulted in a near miss, detonating angrily in the aircraft’s wake as it flew off Ritter’s port wing. The shrapnel that filled the air was more than enough to damage the aircraft badly, and it immediately pulled up and away from the flight, streaming smoke.
“Willi…!” Ritter cried out in shock as his friend’s plane reared upward, seemingly out of control. “Willi…!”
“I’m okay, Carl… barely…” The reply came back over the radio instantly, but Meier’s voice was strained and weak as Ritter craned his neck to see his XO’s plane level out unsteadily behind them. “Johann’s bought it, though. I don’t think I can hold her through an attack run — it feels like she’s going to break up around me!”
“Get out of here, Willi… that’s an order. Just get her home… we’re going in…!”
“I’m sorry, Carl…” The despondent reply came a moment later, Meier’s S-2D lurching and banking away to the west as its tanks and offensive load fell away to explode harmlessly on the surface of the ocean. “God be with you, my friend…!”
“Here we go, boys,” Oberstleutnant Carl Ritter observed with a tense voice as he shifted himself slightly in his seat and reluctantly turned his thoughts back to the target ahead. “Keep it tight and locked up: you all know your jobs and we know what our targets are. Make me proud…”
Auxiliary fuel tanks fell away as the remaining fifteen Messerschmitt fighter-bombers fanned out, barely skimming the wave tops as they swept across the channel between South Ronaldsay and Hoy. His pilots were nervous, and there was a lot more radio chatter than normal as a result. Something unseen had hit them that they couldn’t identify and had thinned their ranks badly… something that had barely appeared for a moment before Ritter’s eyes and was gone again as quickly… and five of his aircraft were down, and a sixth had been forced out of formation as a result.
They were desperately scanning the skies as Davies roared right through the middle of them, faster than most could comprehend. He’d stayed well back until the last of the missiles fired by Trumbull had hit home from a distance of more than fifteen kilometres, before powering in to bring his gun to bear. Wolff Kohl barely had time to cry a warning before a torrent of heavy tracer streamed past off Ritter’s starboard side and tore the plane beside him to pieces.
At such a low altitude however, and now so close to the base, an increasingly desperate Jack Davies momentarily misjudged his approach and suddenly found himself travelling too fast to pull up and away from the formation of German planes as he roared through. As the Raptor thundered above Ritter’s Lion at close to supersonic speed, Davies for just a moment presented an unbelievably juicy target. Acting more out of reflex and instinct than any conscious thought, the commanding officer of ZG26 gave a sharp flick of his joystick that took his gunsights across the disappearing shape of the jet fighter for the most fleeting of opportunities, and the subsequent burst he fired was an extremely lucky one indeed.
His four 20mm wing cannon hammered in concert, filling the air about the Raptor with angry red tracer for a few desperate seconds. Of the hundred or so shells that sizzled past the F-22, just five hit and penetrated the jet’s airframe along its port side. Compressor blades snapped and shattered within, and the American pilot instantly found his aircraft losing vital thrust in one engine. The Raptor began to shudder and yaw violently with the sudden imbalance in power output, and with just enough time to cry “Son of a bitch!” in shock and fear, Davies suddenly found himself fighting for his own survival.