Flying Officer Stumpy Prangsworthy’s handlebar moustache streamed behind him in the 280mph wind as he craned his head round trying to locate where Von Strudels Focke Wulf 190 A8 had gone to. Deep within the cloud, the spineless Boche had shown his true colours and escaped Stumpys righteous justice. The growling Merlin engine sang a new song as he side-slipped his trusty Supermarine Spitfire down towards the now helpless Dornier 17.
The Dornier was almost at the target and in scant moments would land at the brewery and snatch No14 Squadrons Claret from under their noses. Well Stumpy would see about that. He loosed the safety off of his eight .303’s and aimed at the Dorniers port engine.
Suddenly from behind screaming out of a wingunder manoeuvre the FW 190 appeared in Stumpys vanity mirror, its cannons sparkling motes of fire. A shell smashed into the Spits wing and tore the aileron. “Blast you, Von Strudel “yelled Stumpy as he realised that he had been sold a duffer and was gone for a burton. Only one trick could save him. Feathering his Kites prop, he hit the airbrakes and was rewarded with the bright green FW 190 flashing under him. Dropping the nose Stumpy let rip a corking burst which caught the Jerry a treat. Flames poured from the FW 190’s engine and Von Strudel Hit the Silk.
Von Strudel shook his fist as Stumpy flashed past. “Verdammt Englander! Finish me now! The shame is too great!”
“Not a chance old pip,” grinned Stumpy; “A Englishman flies by the rules of the game, and potting a Chap on his chute is defiantly not playing the game.”
So what is playing the game? You are about to find out!