The pilots sit in silence; death is a fate they all are prepared to face, but regardless of being disgusted by the idea, They believed they were born to kill the krauts in flight, and that is why they were there- only a few considered the idea that they may be on the business end of a machine gun, and these few were the experienced pilots such as Tex and the Colonel. However, that doesn't change the fact that they've already had five young men meet their early end in the cockpit of a warbird. Tex folded his hands together and looked around at the boys around him. Of them, he was almost older than everyone except the colonel and the fine pilots that joined him. Tex and his wingman 'Cowboy' sit at twenty-six years of age and were both from Texas, 'Crash' is twenty-three; got his call sign during flight school when he killed the engine of a T-6 Texan and had to bail out, leaving the plane to crash, and 'Phantom' is twenty-five; ultimately everyone calls him Phantom because you'll see him for one second and he'd be gone the next, the squadron veterans know he's always there to get you out of a bind though. The rest of the pilots ranged between nineteen and twenty-two, and most haven't even secured a single kill. Additionally, the squadron has two maintenance teams. Tex's brother runs maintenance for Tex and Cowboy and often works on the Colonel's plane. Crash and the others owe their functionality to the second team - unfortunately, without regular maintenance, Crash would've already been down. The unit recognizes 'Crash' as one who truly lives up to his name, and if he had a second name it'd be 'Reckless'- only god knows how many times the young lieutenant has nearly died in combat, and if it wasn't for his wingman, Phantom, always saving his ass he would be a red splatter on the European soil.
"Lucifer awaits, boys," a voice emits from the entrance of the tent
"Phantom, did you just get here?'
"No, sir, I've been here the whole time, and I was just leaving.'
The tent entrance flies open, and just like the wind, the mysterious pilot is gone.
Tex stood up and headed to his plane, and with him, the rest followed and went to their respective birds. Tex looked over his plane, fully repaired and bearing two more swastikas and another spade on the nose. Beneath the canopy, the name 'MAJ Arthur 'Tex' Jameson' is written, proudly displaying the identity of the pilot to those nearby. After his inspection, Tex got into his cockpit and started his engine.
"I can't believe I'm shooting down a jet today," he muttered to himself.
The plane began rolling, and he taxied it to the runway.
"Hey Colonel, want to lead the formation on take-off?' Tex said over the radio communication channel
"I'll be nice and let you, in celebration of your promotion.' The radio would sound off, being vaguely similar to the Colonel's voice.
Arno lines his plane up and allows the others to fall in behind him,
"Today, we fight, and tomorrow we end this war!' Tex shouts proudly over the radio to his comrades and immediately pushes his throttle to the near maximum. The rest follow in the charge to victory, quickly gaining altitude from the runway and adjusting their heading to the airbase.
An eerie silence has filled the air, radio chatter has completely gone cold, and Tex sits in virtual solitude. Memories fly through the head of a dreary pilot, foreseeing death in the squadron's immediate future. The aerial force known only as 'Hell's Princes' never considered their pilots deceased; however, as a so-called prince himself- Tex has seen brothers die in combat like this.
He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, and as he calms himself, he relives the experience of his last wingman dying.
Four Fw.190 fighters pursue Tex and a young pilot still wet behind the ears utilizing a plane that is shot to hell and back.
"Listen to me, Talon. I'm going to get you home; just trust me, and you'll be fine."
"Tex, you know I'd die for you - just head back to base, and I'll hold these bastards off'
"I'm not going to let you die; just focus on staying awake.'
Tex pulls back on his flight stick as hard as he can, pulling the plane inverted and flying straight into the pursuing fighters.
"Get the hell away from us, damn krauts!' he yells, pulling the trigger to fire his six 12.7mm cannons.
One down- Three to go.
The fighters disperse, and two head to the wounded aircraft, and as such, Tex follows.
"You bastards leave him alone!'
A second burst from the machine guns, and scrap metal shreds off of the nazi warplane as it bursts into flame and explodes midair. Hurtling through the fireball, Tex uses the concealment to get above the fighter, still chasing his wingman. However, Tex takes too long, the Fw.190 fires its machine gun- and a blood-curdling scream fills Tex's cockpit from the radio as Talon's body takes a direct hit from a 13mm projectile. The sound drives Tex mad with rage, and from up high swoops down and cuts the aggressor's tail loose, sending him spiraling out of control towards the earth. Tex looks for the final enemy, but he is seen retreating before getting intercepted and cast into flames.
"Thanks for saving me… Tex…'
"You aren't dying here; we'll get you home, I swear.'
"My cockpit is filling with blood… I'm not going home… I'm glad I served with you; it's been an honor."
"Don't you dare give up on me; we can still get you back!'
"Tex… I give my regards to the Prince of Hell… I'll see you down below…'
The plane's engine cuts off and begins its descent into darkness. Tex grabbed his notebook and jotted down three more kills, and the loss of his wingman.
Tex opens his eyes, looks around, and sees his flight trying to keep focus on their headings.
"Gentleman, we're almost there. Remember who we are. We are royalty- both in the sky and in hell. We will never die because the end of this life is the start of the next. These jets aren't anything better than the 190s or the 109s; we'll have them burning up before they even see us.' The colonel sounds off over the radio, "Just focus on your assignments, and stick with Tex if you want to go home after this is over.'
A combined choir of twenty aviators responds with a simple "Roger Colonel,' all the while Tex sits and listens in silence for he knows the twenty voices he hears today will half, and those missing will simply be replaced, that's the nature of war. This battle will separate the weak from the strong, and expose those who are capable of surviving in this cruel, miserable world.
"Bogies, three o'clock!'
"We got jets! Tex, are you there!'
"Tex, we need you Tex, respond!'
Tex remained silent, and as the jets closed in Tex watched.
"We're going to die man! Tex has fucking lost it, we're not going to make it!'
A jet comes by, and starts trying to move into attack position- Tex immediately pulls up and into a 'Hammerhead stall' maneuver, putting the enemy cockpit directly in his six guns' line of fire; he slightly pulls up farther allowing his nose to be just slightly ahead of the enemy plane and begins firing. The 262's canopy is shattered, and whatever is left is coated in crimson. The cockpit is filled with burning fuel, and in the seat is a torn kraut pilot. A confirmed jet fighter kill; both flights, German and American, scatter and move into combat maneuvers. Shrapnel fills the air as planes from either side take damage, plates of sheet metal flying away from the warbirds becomes just as deadly as a shell from a cannon. The once bright blue sky is plagued by tints of crimson and black from the carnage taking place; Tex only can count fourteen American planes besides himself left, and to seal the deal his radio communications equipment has shorted leaving the pilot to maneuver strictly by sight and instinct. He furiously looks around, trying to count jets but they move quickly and appear as a blur leaving the illusion of a hundred jets for every allied P-51. He begins to viciously track one of the 262s nearby and pulls himself and the fighter jet into a two circle turning battle- a battle in which he can easily outmaneuver his foe. The unstable Me262 wavers back and forth, up and down, all the while trying to keep his tail from the nose of the Mustang, yet the indecent twists and turns of a dogfight starves the two jet engines of oxygen, causing engine stalls and kills the speed superiority the German pilot had claimed prior.
"Three… Two… One… Fireball,' Tex mutters under his breath while counting down the seconds to pull the trigger on the defensive fighter, and with a single press of a button the guns sounded off and the left wing of the nazi aircraft flies off catching flame and setting the fuselage ablaze- Tex's second kill on the fascist jet fighters. A nazi from down below pulls up and begins to fire at Tex, ripping a stabilizer off of his aircraft, damaging the flaps, and a single thirty milimeter cannon shell passes through the cockpit, destroying the radio and piercing the canopy. Tex spins uncontrollably trying to pull back into stable flight,
"You thought you had me good, huh Fritz? Not even a scratch, you better hope I burn up because I'll slaughter you' he shouts angrily, hoping the German pilot would hear him. By the time Tex manages to level out, he looks back and sees Phantom rip the plane into pieces and then suddenly disappear into the clouds hunting for his next victim. The Jet Fighters are finding themselves wounded and with just enough fuel to make it home the fighters break away from combat and begin retreating back to their airbase, the flight forms back up on Tex's unstable airframe, and cowboy flies up beside him and tries to talk to the flight lead. Tex pats the side of his flight helmet and crosses his arms at 'Cowboy', indicating his radio is destroyed. Cowboy gives a thumbs up and speaks into his radio, Tex looks for the 262s but they've been long gone by now. He taps onto his fuel gauge and reads the meter, out of habit he announces 'Bingo Fuel' and shakily maneuvers his plane back to base and the rest of his flight follows him back.
Tex looks back and counts the planes left flying, outside of himself and the colonel there are twelve planes left yet not a single parachute was ever deployed over the combat zone meaning that the eight pilots had died.
Tex, bearing two conflicting devils on his shoulders, looks around on the off chance that the missing planes would emerge from on high simply lagging behind but they never do no matter where he looks. The voice on his right tells him to go back and the crashed pilots would be there looking for their flight leader, but the voice of reason tells him that the lost will never return and there's no use in trying with a half decimated aircraft. Tex listens to the latter choosing the cold hard truth compared to a fallacy leading to his own demise. Nothing he'd do would change the fact that he lost another eight pilots, his dead near the total men he's killed. Eight more letters that have to be taken from locked trunks in the squadron bunks and shipped back to broken homes stateside as the last thing mothers will have from their sons in Europe. He looks in the mirror at himself, and cannot seem to recognize the man on the other side. Tex wipes the mirror clean and sees a speck approaching from behind, he looks back and sees a single Fw.190 in high-speed pursuit of the fighter group. Unable to talk to his flightmates, he pushes shattered glass out of the canopy, sticks his arm out of the hole, and waves over to Cowboy telling him to form up directly next to him. When his wingman was in position, he motioned to the rear and tried to make a swastika with his fingers indicating a hostile fighter was approaching. A single nod and Cowboy dipped under the flight and went to attack the aircraft on assault pattern. Tex watches in the mirror, seeing Cowboy underneath him light up his guns and hits the aircraft several times.
"Great job Cowboy! Hell yeah!' Tex exclaims, before noticing Cowboy is on a direct collision path, "Wait.. Cowboy, get out of there quick!'
The German pilot bails out leaving the two planes to collide, and an instantaneous fireball bursts out leaving both planes as little more than shrapnel-
A burning corpse falls from the sky.
"Damn it Cowboy…' A short sigh escapes Tex, "You're the ninth then…'