There’s a scattered but sizeable dogfight going on a mile or two away and I begin a turn towards it – Spits fighting bombers, or perhaps escorts. I reckon. Suddenly, a twin-finned aircraft detaches itself from the scrum and comes my way. Reversing my turn towards it, there’s a moment of alarm before I realise it’s an escaping Dornier, not an attacking Me110.



I turn after the Hun, but one of the Spitfires is on the job before I can get close enough for a shot.



Next second, another Dornier is chased across my nose by a Hurricane. Fair enough, that’s exactly what I had just ordered the boys to do.



Yet another Dornier slides into my view from the right, so I turn my attention onto him, instead.



I get off a few bursts at if not into him, and take more hits from return fire. Oil splashes onto my windscreen. This isn’t going terribly well!



After a few more bursts, the bomber stops jinking and I think I’ve got him. But then my guns fall silent as my ammo finally runs out. I really ought to resist the temptation to test my aim at long range and save it for when I’m in close. Easy to say, but not so easy to do, when they’re shooting at you and the urge to press the trigger is strong.



Time to go home! I ease off on the throttle, circle around to get my bearings, and settle onto a westerly course. I can’t see land, but I know that’s where it lies. I don’t bother calling off the pack – the lads might as well keep at it, until they too have expended their ammo.



What I can see is that while my oil and water temps are fine, the oil pressure is right down of the bottom of the vertical yellow scale. That can’t be good.



Up ahead, I can now see the coast through a gap in the clouds. A check on the map confirms I’m on course for the nearest airfield. Will I make it?



...to be continued!