It’s the 3rd of June, 1942, in the deserts of Libya.
Nine P40B Tomahawk fighters from the South African Air Force 5th Squadron are rushing to the aid of French defenders that are being bombed in a fort.
It’s a star-studded flight with 3 flying aces in its midst; Cecil Golding, Robin Pare, and Louis Botha.
As they approach the fort they see the Stukas diving.
The chilling screams of the infamous sirens known as Jericho horns take over the desert.
Flashes of destruction devastate the Fighting French below.
The South African pilot's eyes burn with fury, and the flight charges in for revenge.
They strike at once, most focus on the BF 109’s, but Cecil Golding aims to take down a low flying Stuka.
He sweeps in from above guns blazing.
He is behind now and the Stuka is nothing but a target,
the pilot swerves and evades as 50 caliber bullets zip past him.
But it’s an exercise in futility.
The much more manoeuvrable Tomahawk tears the German bomber to pieces until it can hardly maneuver anymore.
The Stuka falls towards the ground, until it slams violently into the earth in a shower of dust and sand.
Across the sky the battle turns into a fight for survival for the German pilots.
The rear gunner of the lead Stuka can do nothing but watch in horror as the swarm of allied aircraft scatter for targets, he knows they’re next.
He warns the pilot:
“They got the fighters, they’re coming!”
The pilot requests immediate backup over the radio.
“Anyone nearby, we need backup immediately! We won’t make it!”
A few kilometers away famed ace Hans-Joachim Marseille and his wingman are on a patrol aboard their Bf 109s when they receive the desperate plea.
They don’t need to be told twice, they slam the throttle to full and race to the rescue.
They arrive to a chaotic scene, with allied fighters all over the Stukas, but Marseille is undeterred.
Below him he spots the closest Stuka, its tail gunner is trading fire with the chasing Tomahawk.
They dive into the attack, sweeping from above on the unsuspecting Tomahawk.
Marseille is still a way back, but he feels he can land the shot.
He pushes the button and a burst of 20mm fires across the sky.
His precision is immaculate, and a shell slams straight into the enemy aircraft.
The Stuka crew cheer as their pursuer breaks off spewing a trail of oil in its wake.
The wounded Tomahawk loses power and glides inexorably towards the sand.
Golding watches in horror as he sees his friend go down in a cloud of dust and sand as it hits the earth.
In a fury he turns to meet Marseille.
The two aviators are on a collision course, both are each other’s barrels.
They open fire, holding the trigger down as they see the enemy’s tracers streaming from both planes.
50 cals zip by Marseille.
Every one missing its target...
Golding has no such luck.
His Tomahawk is struck square in the nose, shrapnel enters the cockpit severing the control stick and striking Golding on his left leg.
The German emerging victorious.
Golding has lost pitch and roll control, but he’s too low to bail.
Despite the pain he works through the situation.
He can still use the rudder to steer left and right using his healthy leg, but it causes a roll.
Fortunately, the Tomahawk can extend flaps independently, so he uses them to carefully counteract the roll.
Very gently he limps the aircraft lower and lower, cutting back on the throttle to slow for the eventual landing.
His heart accelerates the closer the ground gets.
The slower he goes the more he needs to deploy the flaps just to keep the nose up.
He skims the ground as low as he dares, the aircraft bleeds off speed as he deploys more and more flaps to keep it in the air,
shedding as much speed as he can before the inevitable impact.
Cecil Golding comes around, dazed and confused.
But somehow, alive.
He pulls back the canopy and is surprised to see none other than his friend who was just shot down, running to his aid.
“Are you ok, man?”
“They got my leg.”
“Come on! Let’s get you out.”
“I am down, Robin, Louis make sure you get the blighter!”
Robin Pare hears the message and doesn't wait around as he sees Marseille’s BF-109 in the distance.
He sets a course to intercept alongside his wingman.
Marseille is running low on 20mm ammunition, but he’s far from done.
As the 2 Tomahawks approach him, he turns to face the danger head on.
Pare opens fire, then Marseille.
But today luck is with the German.
Pare's hand releases the trigger as a 20mm volley pummels through the cockpit of the Tomahawk.
It's over.
As Pare stops firing this tells the German Ace all he needs to know and the Tomahawk drifts down.
Back on the ground, Morrison and Golding are making their way on foot to the fort when the pair notices a third airframe smoking on the ground.
It’s the Stuka Golding had shot down just a few minutes prior.
“Let’s go check on him.”
They make their way to the wrecked enemy aircraft as fast as they can with Golding’s injury while the smoke grows into a fire.
“Go on ahead man, I’ll catch up.”
Golding tells Morrison to go on ahead and the Captain sprints the last leg of the distance.
Within he sees the German pilot hunched over the controls, weak but alive.
Back in the air, Louis Botha, the last of the 5th Squadron’s three aces, spots Marseille hounding yet another one of his friends.
And he charges into the rescue.
Botha catches the German mid-chase, flying by while ripping through the Me 109 with his 50 caliber machine guns.
Marseille immediately breaks off the chase, leaving the extremely battered Tomahawk to escape the scene.
Marseille’s 109 has a few extra holes but no heavy damage, so he sets his sights on the new challenger.
The pair locks themselves in combat, twisting and turning in a variety of aerial maneuvers.
Marseille catches glimpses of Botha, and Botha does the same, both opening fire and striking the enemy but both failing to land that critical hit.
They grind each other down in a battle of wits and cunning.
But as it drags on Marseille starts to gain the upper hand.
Botha just can’t keep up, Marseille is flying like a man possessed,
somehow managing to find opportunities to fire where no other pilot can.
Bit by bit the German grinds down the allied Tomahawk.
Botha can feel its performance deteriorating, the opportunities are becoming scarcer, and escaping enemy volleys becoming harder.
Marseille sweeps in for another attack run and tears through the Tomahawk with 7.92mm, one bullet punching straight through a coolant line.
A white trail shoots out the back of the Tomahawk and Botha decides it's time to run to fight another day.
Marseille spots the fleeing Botha and wants to give chase, but in the distance 3 more P40Bs are flying his way.
He glances at his ammunition counter and the needle is right at the bottom.
He has no choice, he has to turn for home.
Botha tries to nurse his plane home but the temperature gauge is rapidly increasing.
It's not good.
He has to ditch.
He knows if his plane goes down that the German will have defeated 3 aces today!
But finally he has no choice and puts down his bird in the desert.
All 3 aces were defeated,
and only 2 escaped with their lives.
Marseille on the other hand returns to land with 6 more victories to his name, bringing his tally to 75.
“Leave some for me next time.”
“Ha-ha-ha-ha”
“Nein.”
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