Captain Dawson, Captain Simms and the new kid, Lieutenant Fitch, soared through the sky in tight formation. Quickly climbing, the graceful Spitfires circled high over the airfield in plain view of everyone on the ground. Fitch checked his indicators in preparation for the qualification test, then briefly looked down at the patchwork of green fields below. The young pilot eagerly waited for the chance to prove himself and be accepted by the squadron.
Settling in the seat of his Spitfire, Captain Dawson eyed the gauges in front of him, noting their speed and heading. Simms and Fitch followed on his left wing, like members of a precision team.
"We've reached altitude," Dawson called into his radio. "Andy, you take the lead for maneuvers."
"Roger," Simms replied. "Time for some formation flying."
"Okay, Fitch," Dawson continued, "when Simms calls to break, you follow his every move. I'll be behind you in the third slot... watching."
Captain Simms chuckled at Dawson's attempt to rattle Fitch with his overbearing tone. But, it had no effect on the young pilot. Fitch relaxed in the familiar surroundings of the cockpit. He calmly acknowledged the order and skillfully shifted his plane to the middle of the formation.
A moment later, Simms barked into his radio, "Break!"
The veteran RAF pilot rolled his Spitfire into a steep dive. Fitch followed, perfectly matching the lead plane. Dawson trailed behind and scrutinized every move.
The three planes dove, twisted, turned and climbed through the air, as if tied by string. From the ground, the precision flying of the Spitfires looked like a perfectly executed dance. The planes chased each other over and over, circling the fields of Hampton County. Eventually, Dawson ordered the pilots to level out.
Captain Dawson heaved a sigh of relief. He felt satisfied the young pilot could fly. In fact, it was obvious Fitch could fly well.
Careful to hide his opinion for the moment, Dawson coolly admitted, "Apparently the RAF has done an adequate job of teaching you how to fly, Lieutenant."
Now Dawson needed to know if Fitch was ready to fight. Lives depended on it. Before the young pilot could be accepted into the squadron, he had to prove he was prepared in all areas. The responsibility for making that life and death decision rested squarely on the shoulders of the Squadron Leader.
"Time for the real test, Lieutenant," Dawson commanded. "Let's see how you do in a dogfight. I wonder how long it will take for you to score a hit, assuming you even get a chance. When I call, break, come and get us."
Gaining confidence by the minute, Lieutenant Fitch smartly responded, "If I might ask, sir, which one of you would prefer to go down first?"
Captain Simms enjoyed the playful jab as he quietly listened in his cockpit. In the world of fighter pilots, it was a good sign. Even Dawson felt bolstered by Fitch's new found nerve.
"Perhaps to even things up a bit I should give you a few tips, Lieutenant," Dawson shot back. "Always aim ahead of your target, and remember, surprise gives you the advantage. Next time we run into some Focke-Wulfs, we'll use surprise to break their formation and..."
Dawson's impromptu combat lesson was suddenly interrupted by the roar of Fitch's engine as he powered his Spitfire sharply away.
"Where's he going?" Dawson demanded. "I didn't order a break."
"You said break, Ted, and the lad jinked away," Simms laughingly replied. "Andy," Dawson argued, "I did no such thing."
"You did, and it looks like we've lost him." Hearing the word, break, Fitch sped away, out of sight. Dawson realized the game was on, and immediately ordered Simms to follow on his wing while they searched for the young pilot.
The two RAF veterans circled the area designated for the pretend dogfight, wary of their young foe. They practiced some evasive maneuvers for their own protection and scoured the bright blue sky, ready to chase the new kid down. Suddenly, Dawson spotted the lone Spitfire passing above.
"Andy," Dawson called, "I see him at two o'clock high!"
Impressed by the young pilot's skill, Simms questioned, "How ever did he get there?"
"It doesn't matter!" Dawson snapped. "You circle high and I'll cross below. Force him down in front of me."
"Roger," Simms acknowledged.
With a burst of power, Captain Simms veered away, climbing fast. He swiftly directed his Spitfire to a position just above and behind Fitch. Then, Simms started bearing down on the young pilot, following Dawson's strategy.
Fitch worked his controls and kicked at the rudder pedals trying his best to evade Captain Simms. Dawson's Spitfire crossed under to cut him off and lined up behind him as well. Fitch was caught in their trap. Rolling over and over, the new recruit labored to shake the RAF veterans.
Abruptly, Fitch's radio sparked to life, carrying a nauseating message.
"Tat-tat-tat-tat-tat..." Dawson droned over the radio, indicating he had Fitch lined up in his gunsight.
Undaunted, Fitch quickly pitched his Spitfire up and climbed at a breakneck pace. Surprised by the daring maneuver, Simms lost position and had to break wide from the chase.
Captain Dawson tried to hang with the young pilot by climbing after him. But, Fitch started twisting his plane into a spin. Glaring sunlight spilled through the glass canopy and the flickering bright flashes practically blinded Dawson. Disappearing in the sunshine, Fitch brilliantly escaped his Captain.
"Andy," Dawson radioed to Simms, "I've lost Fitch. Can you find him?"
When the radio hissed with a return message, Dawson anticipated a reply from Captain Simms. Instead, the voice in his headset was that of Lieutenant Fitch.
"Tat-tat-tat-tat-tat," Fitch repeated over the radio in an annoying imitation of Dawson's earlier mock gunfire.
Startled by the sound, the RAF veterans found themselves in an unexpected situation. Dawson quickly glanced over his shoulder to locate the other Spitfires. Captain Simms was just off his wing, but Lieutenant Fitch followed right behind, stalking his every move. Hot on his tail, Fitch singled out Simms and clearly caught him in his sights.
"Tat-tat-tat-tat-tat," Fitch repeated over and over.
Captain Simms immediately snapped into a steep dive and flippantly called to Dawson, "I found him! Now I could use some help."
Lieutenant Fitch stuck to Captain Simms like glue. Fitch followed every move in perfect unison. Holding Simms constantly in his sights, the new kid playfully filled the radio with his sickening tat-tat-tat sound.
Captain Dawson hurled his Spitfire over in a race to save Simms from the embarrassment of being "shot down" by a recruit. Knifing in behind Fitch, Dawson aligned his sights on the Lieutenant's tail, and called into the radio, "It's my turn, Danny. Tat-tat-tat-tat-tat."