It’s the 23rd of April, 1941.
Twenty BF-109s escorting a group of Stukas high over the sands of North Africa.
One of the pilots is young and at the start of a glorious career.
Yeah, it’s me again!
Hans Joachim Marseille.
He spots a flight of enemy Hawker Hurricanes below them, and in his characteristic attitude, he plunges into the attack without a second thought,
leaving his squadron surprised and confused as their star pilot dives away without explanation.
Marseille speeds straight into danger all on his own, showing no regard for his own safety.
Teetering on the edge of his 109's maximum speed, he lines up a shot on the rapidly approaching enemy and pulls the trigger.
The barrage of 20mm shells streaks across the sky but misses it’s mark.
Marseille races past the enemy making them split.
He’s a bit annoyed at his uncharacteristically poor marksmanship, but remains unconcerned and then turns around for another run.
But these Hurricanes aren’t planning on going down easily.
3 Hurricanes catch up to Marseille and open fire upon the German aircraft,
the combined twenty four 7.7mm machine guns sending an absolute thunderstorm of lead and tracers his way.
Marseille weaves and dives in evasive maneuvers as bullets strike his aircraft, and he slithers out of their crosshairs.
Marseille smiles.
Fights are much more fun than ambushes anyway.
He keeps twisting and turning at breakneck speed across the sky, the Hurricane pilots struggling to match him.
He dodges their shots, outsmarting them at every turn as he leaves the Hurricanes further and further in the dust.
All except one.
The third Hurricane remains hot on his heels, shadowing Marseille’s every move and peppering his 109 with machine gun fire.
Soon Marseille is left in a one-on-one battle, with all other enemies left behind.
He keeps up the breakneck maneuvers trying everything to get rid of the Hurricane,
but the unknown enemy matches his every move, almost as if he was reading Marseille’s mind.
In their tangle a scissor maneuver takes shape, the two warbirds criss cross in the sky.
Simultaneously attempting to aim at their opponent while keeping out of the other’s deadly line of fire, roaring past each other mere feet apart.
They dance in the sky, a pair in deadly choreography, both waiting for the other to make that fatal mistake.
And then, Marseille slips.
He’s heading towards the enemy when he realizes he’s too far ahead and is about to cross right in front of the Hurricane´s guns!
His heart sinks, it’s far too late to correct.
Time slows to a crawl and his 109 approaches inexorably into the Hurricane’s line of fire, Marseille ducks in his seat and thinks to himself
“This could be the end”.
The Hurricane times his open fire on the passing German.
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The first shots hit the engine,
then the cockpit.
Bullets punch through the canopy,
before bursting out the other side.
The shots rip through the rest of the 109’s tail before Hurricane speeds past.
Marseille opens his eyes, shocked to even be alive.
But he might not remain so for long,
he can feel his bird is down on power and the irritating air thick with mist of oil and coolant assaults his nose.
He looks back over his shoulders and sees the Hurricane turning around for a second run.
Could it be that Hans-Joaquim Marseille, the young hotshot known for repeatedly jumping headfirst into fights
against all odds and emerging victorious almost effortlessly, finds himself finally outclassed?
With his bird wounded underneath him and a great talent behind the controls of his enemy,
Marseille does something he’s never done before:
he concedes defeat.
He flips his machine upside down and pulls into a steep dive,
picking up speed to race for the safety of his airfield before his opponent can finish him off.
From onboard the Hurricane, the pilot watches his prey fall away.
He could still pursue and likely claim the kill, but the rest of his squadron is in a brawl with the other German fighters,
so he takes the underwhelming victory and rushes to his friends’ rescue.
His name is James Denis.
The 2 foes would meet again just 1 month later.
Denis and his wingman are flying low near Tobruk.
They’re on a strafing mission in the middle of shooting columns of advancing German supplies.
Denis takes a breather from pounding the ground and takes precautionary look over at his wingman.
But he’s met with a horrifying sight.
There’s a BF-109 diving down from the sky and straight for his comrade with five more 109s following in a tow of the leader.
It’s Marseille.
Lacking a radio, Denis is powerless as Marseille tears his wingman to shreds.
The wreckage spinning and falling towards the earth.
The perpetrator races on accelerating in his direction, but oddly not straight towards him.
Sensing Marseille’s overconfidence, Denis holds position, pretending he hasn’t seen the 109 to encourage the German pilot to lower his guard.
And Marseille does just that, flying on with the intent of passing by the French pilot without a care in the world.
Denis pounces.
He turns hard to give chase.
The Hurricane reacts violently, protesting under the high Gs as he brings himself straight onto a collision course with the 109,
speeding straight towards his side.
Marseille spots him at the last moment and rapidly tries to turn the nose and fire, but he’s too late.
A shower of tracers emerges from the Hurricane and crashes down on the 109, ripping and tearing through the fuselage
for as long as he can before he races past his target.
Marseille shakes off the shock and immediately turns hard in pursuit.
He hunts down the Frenchman, but Denis constantly evades the 109’s deadly gaze, climbing in a turn.
The German aircraft follows, locking the pair into yet another dogfight across the heavens.
They twist and weave, climbing higher and higher as they chase down each other in a beautiful and dangerous ballet.
Neither pilot can get a shot in, with both men reading each other’s plays to perfection.
It’s a battle of youthful passion and energy against cold and calculating experience, with a near equal amount of skill to back them up.
Marseille keeps evading the Hurricane’s fire, but try as he might, he cannot get in position to return fire either.
But then, mid-maneuver the morning sunrise hits him right in the eyes, and he gets an idea.
He escapes the dance and flies straight towards the sun in the horizon.
Denis isn’t fooled, he can see what his enemy is trying to do.
But he does not care.
He gives chase with the sun in his face, chasing down Marseille almost completely blind.
The Hurricane hunts down the 109, inching closer and closer.
Denis can’t see anything, but he knows Marseille is right there.
Then suddenly Marseille’s 109 fully hides the sun, lifting the blindfold from Denis’s eyes and presenting him with a gigantic target.
Denis pulls the trigger.
The Hurricane’s 8 machineguns pour a storm of bullets straight into the 109, the frame reverberating with the clatter of hits.
In fractions of a second the 109’s fuselage is ripped apart and a fire breaks out.
Marseille dives away from the barrage, but the damage has been done, and a long tail of flame sprouts from his airframe as he accelerates earthbound.
Denis doesn’t bother pursuing and leaves the 109 to his fate.
Marseille holds the dive, unwilling to bail.
He cuts the engine and pushes his nose as vertical as he dare, reaching the 109’s maximum safe speed and then surpassing it.
Marseille is in total focus as his aircraft shakes and shudders all around him, threatening to disintegrate under the strain,
but he looks at his wings and sees the licks of flame about to be blown out by the wind.
Just a little longer.
He holds the dive, fearlessly facing forward as the ground gets closer and closer…
But miraculously…
the fire flickers out.
Marseille pulls up, squished into the seat by the harsh G-forces but narrowly escaping with his life.
He looks back over his shoulder, searching for his mysterious assailant but finding nothing but clear skies.
He’s not angry, he can only respect a fellow pilot that beat him fair and square.
Marseille would limp his aircraft home and get right back into service.
He continued living every day like his last, displaying zero discipline on the ground and all the skill in the air.
His rebel style would take him farther than the cool and collected Denis could ever hope for,
earning 158 victories and the Knight’s Cross with Oak Leaves, Swords, and Diamonds for his name.
Denis would sport an impressive career as well, returning home with 21 victories and the legion d’honneur around his neck.
But despite that he was still vastly outshined, his confrontations with Marseille reduced to a footnote in the German’s legacy.
Regardless of fame, Colonel James Denis will forever remain the man who bested the Star of Africa.
Not once, but twice.
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