Twist of Fate

The paint scheme on his present aircraft was a near replica to that on the P-51 he had flown years ago in World War II when he was a combat pilot in Europe. Using a photograph of the nose art on his old warbird a friend had painted a replica of the old design on his new P-51. Back then the lovely lady painted on his aircraft had inspired him and became a focal point for the love of his aircraft. It was now years from that time when that P-51 had been his personal armor in the combat with the Germans. The new nose art rekindled his love with his airplane while also provoking interested or repulsed responses, depending on who was looking.

As he climbed out to the west he reflected that his present, personal Mustang outperformed the bird of old. Of course, that was because she was not being required to carry externa fuel tanks for extended combat missions plus weapons, ammunition, and armor. As a result, this Mustang was a simple joy to fly.

Just for the fun of it he rolled his ex-warbird through a series of slow rolls. It was so much fun to fly this aircraft with its delightful handling characteristics. Ahead of him he saw a small cloud but as there were no other aircraft visible anywhere, he decided to bend the rules just a little bit. It would be so much fun to punch through that tiny bit of vapor. Before him was spread the flat fields of Kansas and other than the one small cloud, there was not a bit of haze or clouds to impede his view.

The cloud abruptly surrounded the clear canopy of the aircraft. In just a moment he would pop out of the other side back into the sunlight. An unexpected buffet threw him against his seat belt and shoulder harness straps. The cloud thickened around him and before he realized what had happened, the sunlight outside disappeared briefly as the thickness of the vapor darkened the area around the aircraft. Just as quickly as the sky darkened around him, it suddenly cleared as he popped out of the backside of the cloud. Much to his surprise, he was now flying over the slope of a mountainside. He jerked his head around to scan the area and was chilled to realize that he was suddenly someplace other than the Kansas skies he had just been in. When he looked up in the sky however he received the largest shock of all. High above him was the moon, smaller than he remembered having seen it. What really shook him was the second moon close to the horizon!

Dazed, the pilot scanned the airspace around him while he tried to understand what had happened. Above him and to the left he saw a formation of aircraft. He counted four single engine aircraft. Even as he watched, they turned toward him. He had been spotted.

As a former fighter pilot he recognized the approach as that of combat aircraft checking out an unknown aircraft. The formation split into two flights with one pair moving directly toward him and the other two using their advantage of height to swoop down on the Mustang's other side. They were trying to flank him.

The first pair of aircraft came directly at him. Suddenly he saw tracer bullets arching towards him! Whoever they were, they were not friendly. They had not even attempted to get close enough to identify him!

Old instincts surged through his body as his left hand slammed the throttle toward the firewall and his right hand pulled the stick back and toward the firing aircraft. Surging forward in response to the sudden outpouring of horsepower, the Mustang slammed the pilot against the backrest as the G forces of his turn pinned him to the seat. In that instant he had identified himself to the unknown pilots as a fighter pilot like themselves.

The other pair of fighter planes that had been trying to flank him turned in now to make their run. As he turned into the first pair of fighters to reduce his exposure to their gunfire, he had opened himself up to the other pair.

Quickly the suddenly trapped pilot rolled his Mustang over and dove for the deck. The other fighters turned to follow but the maneuverability of the Mustang and its quickness had caught the fighter flight off guard. For the moment the Mustang was clear of the following aircraft. These fighters were clearly not in the same class as the Mustang but they had two advantages. First they outnumbered the single Mustang and secondly they were armed. Ruefully he glanced at the wings where the machine guns would have been mounted if this airplane were still equipped for combat.

He glanced over his shoulder at the trailing fighters but they would not catch up with him as long as he had gasoline in the tank. When he looked around, however, he was shocked to see two other flights of aircraft approaching. They were in front of him on either side. These aircraft were moving to box him in too.

A combat assessment of his situation was not promising. Not only was he unarmed, he had no idea of where he was, who these people were who were trying to shoot him down, and his aircraft had nothing with which to shoot back.

Ahead he saw a coastline. Across the wide channel was another land. Knowing that some boundaries were laid out on coastlines, he decided to try to escape across the water. First though he would have to get through the eight aircraft in front of him.

Memories of combat tactics and situations ran through his mind as he sought some way out of his mess. Before he met the other two flights of aircraft, it was time to gain some altitude. Pulling the nose upward, the Mustang clawed its way skyward. When he looked back, he saw the opposing aircraft could not match his unarmed and lightly loaded aircraft in the race for altitude.

For just a moment he thought that the performance advantage he enjoyed would gain him his freedom. It had been years since he had fought in combat and one key command had momentarily slipped his mind: Watch for the enemy diving out of the sun. With the sun behind him, he had missed the last flight of fighters in the area. These he discovered when they opened fire as they dove out of the sun.

Bullets slammed into the forward part of his aircraft. Quickly he rolled and dove away from the danger but they were diving from above and temporarily had the speed advantage on him. More rounds tore into the wings and tail of his beloved Mustang. Desperately he twisted and turned while he dove for the deck. The roar of his engine at full power and the scream of the aircraft in its dive surrounded him.

Glancing at his instrument panel, he noted that he was loosing oil pressure. The engine had been hit. Now, when he needed it most, the reliable Merlin engine was dying as its lifeblood, oil, drained away. It began to run rough and the Mustang began to slow down as its engine lost power. Additional bullets from other aircraft now poured into the Mustang. Like a pack of wolves surrounding a gallant stallion, the horde of ugly fighters nipped at the Mustang fighter. There was a burning in his leg and then a second in his shoulder as bullets and shrapnel penetrated the cockpit. The coastline was almost under them as man and machine suffered the bullet stings of the fighter planes now swarming more closely around them.