I stay above the stricken 109 and wait to see the pilot bail out and the machine plunge earthwards. But neither of these things happen. I soon realise that the Hun has levelled off and is simply flying on.



A typical piece of underhand and downright unsporting Hun trickery, if you ask me! Needs must put a stop to this sort of thing. The 109 has gained a bit of ground, but I'm soon chasing him down again....



...and winding down the range. He must know I'm coming, but doesn't do anything about it.



So of course I let him have it, and edge aside only I've started him burning.



Surely that ought to do the trick?



Yes it does. the fire seems to have died away but the Hun has finally decided to do the decent thing and hit the silk.



By this time I'm well out of sight of anyone else and call up the boys with an order to return to base. The chatter on the airwaves has died down and it seems the fighting has died down with it; like me, everybody is probably low on ammo.



Once I'm satisfied I'm well west of the combat zone I throttle back and lose height, calling now for the squadron to re-form.



After a few minutes, they do so - just two of them, out of eight besides myself. This is not looking good, but I don't recall hearing anything really bad on the R/T, so I'm still hopeful.



Back at base, I find we have sadly lost my replacement Number 2, Jake Thompson, whose first and last flight in my section this was. Everyone else is fine and only the one Spitfire was lost. In return and including my own, we are claiming four destroyed, all 109s no doubt.



An excellent lunchtime's work for Sixty-five! If we make it through the day without disaster, this will be worth sinking a few pints over later, at the nearest suitable hostelry!