Background
None of us saw the four fighters diving towards us from cover of the midday sun. An otherworldly roar of engines, the dry rattle of machine-gun fire and suddenly Phelps and Ecclestone disintegrated in front of me in a cloud of blood and metal, as if grenades had gone of inside their cockpits. I dove sharply, in a desperate attempt to escape the unseen menace, but it was too late...
My Spitfire jerked as bullets tore into wings and body, then agonizing pain as my shoulder and chest were likewise perforated. Blood spewed from my mouth, showering the windshield with ruby droplets. Like a falling Angel I descended in a ball of red flame.