Oberst Eugene Zurich was a feared man.

At his approach, his fellow soldiers would often stand aside and salute while averting their gazes, fearful that the Top Ace of Jagdgeschwader 66 would smite them where they stood. To Eugene, this was a form of respect, and he thrived off it. Even officers that held the same rank as him from other Jagdgeschwader groups acted as if he were the Generaloberst of the Luftwaffe.

Their fear-stricken respect wasn't based on unfounded reasons, however. Many times during many missions, Eugene proved he had the skill and the ability to deliver fatal blows to entire bomber formations, often forcing the Allied bomber pilots to panic and make grave mistakes. While he was skilled with a fighter, he was better skilled at psychological warfare. Being the Top Ace of his unit, with a confirmed two-hundred seventy-three kills, Eugene was allowed certain privileges. While he had become a household name within many German families, and becoming a part of Adolf Hitler's personal entourage, Eugene was a man of unorthodox tactics.

With many pilots, their aircraft were painted to regulation camouflage patterns and marking, some opting to paint the nose cones of their aircraft in a black and white swirling pattern. This was meant to draw the focus of American gunners, making them miss their shots. But Eugene? He went the extra mile to screw with Allied pilots and their gunners.

With his standing within the Luftwaffe, and his closeness to the Fuhrer himself, Eugene was usually given the newer models of the Messerschmitt Bf. 109 the moment they rolled off the production line. But he was a man of trickery, and while he adored the Bf. 109 and its' newer iterations, the aircraft was simply too recognizable to the Allies. It was during a stormy afternoon that Eugene had an epiphany; Why not disguise his aircraft?

And so he took it upon himself to do just that. With America's entry into the war in in the later end of 1941, Germany became witness to the newer models of American fighters and bombers. With each encounter, Germany learned how to identify America's unique machinery. There was one aircraft among the American arsenal that closely resembled the current Bf. 109 E, and it was the P-51 Mustang. Currently in its' B model, the two aircraft shared similar features in terms of their designs, namely in their canopy shape and overall wing structure.

The idea came to fruition roughly a week later. On a clear late morning, Eugene climbed into the canopy of his fighter and started the engine. The upper portion of the aircraft was painted to look like the olive-drab Mustangs, complete with false Air Corps markings. The underside however, was painted a harsh yellow, complete with twin Balkenkreuz markings on the wingtips. This was done so that friendly units and anti-air batteries did not shoot him down.

Many had told Eugene to abandon this endeavor, telling him that he would be committing a war crime. Many even threatened to report him to higher officials to have him subject to a court martial. Eugene simply laughed them off, stating "This is war. Those of us who know this must do what it takes to even the odds."

And so he went.

His trickery was a success.

Within days, Eugene was praised for his psychological effects against the enemy. To the Allies, he was a person of interest, third only to Hitler and Hermann Goering.

As his kill count raised, so did his infamy. Eugene was so confident with his own trick, that he even attempted to have an entire squadron devised, one that would fly disguised aircraft to fool and deceive the enemy.

While an unreasonable man, Hitler had heard of Eugene's devious antics, and did not wish to have all of Germany labeled as war criminals, although he knew damn well of the atrocities against the Jewish peoples. The idea was denied almost immediately, and Eugene was dismissed. When he returned to his group, a group of S.S. Officers waited to 'greet' the Ace. The moment he dismounted his aircraft, Eugene was arrested for inhumane war crimes against the Allied air crews. His aircraft was taken and scrapped for spare parts a day after his arrest.

And that's where Eugene spent a span of roughly seven months, awaiting his trial in a solitary cell within a Gestapo prison in Munchen, Germany.

And it was from this prison that Eugene would make a break for freedom.

~ooo000ooo~

Eugene had it on good word from one of the S.S. guards stationed at is cell, that his transfer to Berlin was due to happen in two days. He was going to be taken to a nearby airfield and flown into Berlin. From there, he would have to await his court trial, and if found guilty, his execution.

"Not on my watch."

Eugene had two days to mentally ready himself for his escape. He played out the potential travel process in his head over and over until he could hear it in his sleep. Given his current solitary state, there was nothing to distract him from planning his steps and actions.

And before he knew it, the night had come.

~ooo000ooo~

Eugene was in the middle of a meager meal, a simple bowl of mushy oatmeal and stale bread. Within moments, the lock on his cell door was being keyed and unlocked. Two armed guards stormed in and grabbed him by the arms. Hauling him to his feet, they practically dragged him out of the small cell. Holding out his arms before him, the guards slapped a pair of cuffs around his wrists and hurried him out of the building.

"Step one, be cuffed and led out. As easy as it sounded."

Waiting outside for him, a covered transport truck sat idling. Parked in front of the truck, a Kugelwagen sat, armed with a single heavy machine gun in the back. Behind the truck, an eight wheeled Puma armored car sat, waiting to get underway. The convoy was simple, but it was enough for a quick prisoner transfer.

"Step two, assess convoy strength."

Eugene wouldn't act here. The MG 42 on the back of the Kugelwagen could cut him in half, literally, if he made a break for it. If he didn't go that way, he still had a Puma armed with a short barreled 75 mm cannon to deal with. One shot from that cannon, and Eugene would find himself scattered among the trees.

No, he would be the good prisoner and cooperate for now.

Hopping into the covered truck, Eugene took a seat while the guards entered behind him. As the convoy began to drive away from the small prison, Eugene eyed the guards with their MP 40 machine guns. He also watched as the Puma pulled around the three-vehicle convoy and drive past the truck.

"Step three, await arrival at the airfield."

And so he waited. He even tried to strike up some conversation with the guards, but they weren't going to have any of it. One guard was kind enough to allow Eugene a cigarette and a light. The nicotine would help calm his nerves as he waited for their arrival.

After what seemed like an hour, the convoy finally slowed down. Eugene could hear the truck driver conversing with another soldier, most likely an airfield guard. After a quick confirmation, the truck picked up speed again and drove past the entry gate. Smooth tarmac popped into view as the truck turned towards the aircraft parking area. A couple minutes later, and the truck came to a full stop. Shutting down, the two guards rose from their seats and grabbed Eugene once again. Leaving the truck as one, the three men rounded the vehicle and began approaching an awaiting Ju. 52. Nearby, two Fw. 190 fighters sat with their engines idling and their pilots nearby, waiting for the tri-motor aircraft to take off.

"Step four, get a weapon."

"Erm, this is probably a bad time, but I severally need to use the bathroom. I do not wish to make a scene on the flight." Eugene said. The two guards stopped and gave him deadpanned expressions.

"Are you serious?" asked the one on his left. Eugene nodded eagerly, trying to emphasize his need to go. The left guard looked to the right guard, an eyebrow hiking up. The right guard sighed and rolled his eyes, nodding his head off to the left as a sign for the two to go. Grabbing Eugene, the left guard escorted him to the nearby command building. The right guard, meanwhile, lit a cigarette of his own and leaned against the truck as he waited for the two to get back.

A minute later, and the two men had entered the building. After turning down a few hallways, the two finally found a bathroom for Eugene. The guard pushed him into the bathroom, following him in to make sure Eugene didn't try anything funny.

It only took a second before Eugene sprung into action. Balling up his fists, he suddenly spun and brought them up. Before the guard knew it, he was getting slugged across the face. The guard stumbled back with a cry of pain, hitting the tiled wall before scrambling to regain his balance. Before the guard could raise his weapon, Eugene grabbed him by the collars of his jacket and threw him into the nearby sink.

The guard's face met the ceramic with a dull crack. Like a sack of potatoes, the guard fell to the floor out cold. A small pool of blood began to pool right under his face.

Eugene quickly checked the guard for the key, but with no such luck.

"Damn it, they key must be on the other guard." Eugene muttered to himself. Opting to go for the guard's pistol, he scavenged two spare clips for the side arm before making his way out of the bathroom. The halls were quiet, save for the occasional radio operator making confirmations within the various communication rooms. Tracing his way back to the entrance, Eugene slightly opened the door and peaked out at the tarmac. Nothing had changed since his departure a few minutes ago, save for the fact that the second truck guard was now watching the building.

"Step six, get out of these cuffs."

Eugene made a show of the door suddenly opening and closing, slamming it hard. However, this drew some unwanted attention. Almost immediately, a nearby door opens up and a confused looking Sergeant steps out.

"What is going on-" was all he said before Eugene sent a single shot into the Sergeant's head. The body slumped against the door frame and slid to the floor, trailing blood against the wood.

A voice rings from outside.

"Hey! What's going on in there?" screamed the second truck guard. Eugene had all of a second to improvise.

"H-Help!! The guard tried to kill me!" he screamed. A second later, and the second truck guard opened the door. Before he can take in the scene of the dead Sergeant, Eugene sent another shot into the guard. The bullet struck his thigh, forcing him to cry out in pain. The sudden jolt of pain forced him to let off a rapid stream of bullets from his MP 40 as he fell to the floor. A gasp sounded out behind Eugene. He quickly looked to see a young boy, probably a Private, duck back into the room he occupied before screaming.

"ALARM! ALARM!"

"Step seven, run like hell."

The sounds of rousing troops told Eugene he had moments to act. Planting another shot into the guard, the man falls dead as Eugene scrambled to search the body. Finding the key, he hastily released one cuff before a shot rang out behind him. The bullet slammed the wooden frame of the door that led outside. Rushing to his feet, Eugene ran out of the building.

As he sprinted across the tarmac, the two Fw. 190 pilots scrambled to stop him. One draws his weapon as the other made a bull charge to tackle him. Another pull of the trigger, and the charging pilot fell to the ground, gripping his shoulder in agony. Eugene kept going, making himself a more difficult target to hit.

Behind him, more shots rung out. The airfield troops were now firing at him from the building windows and outside of the building. The cascade of shots hits one of the 190s, sparking a flame within the engine cowling. Seconds later, and the entire fighter becomes a ball of flame as the fire rushes into the fuel tanks. The sudden inferno enveloped the second 190 pilot, forcing him to drop and try to extinguish himself of the flame that ravaged his body. Eugene ran past the screaming, melting man and to the intact fighter.

In that moment, a round found its' mark.

Pain erupted from Eugene's calf, the area immediately numbing entirely. He screamed, stopping for all of a second before throwing himself against the body of the fighter. Climbing onto the wing, Eugene slid himself into the canopy before slamming it shut. With the engine already running, all he had to do was get into the air.

Throwing the throttle open, Eugene gripped the control stick and threw the fighter into a turn. Rounds continued to ping off the body of the fighter as it powered past the burning aircraft. A few rounds embedded themselves into the bulletproof glass, causing a spider web effect on the glass. The fighter shook under its' own power as Eugene hastily maneuvered it onto the runway. Without hesitation, Eugene lowered the flaps into their take-off position as the fighter swerved onto the concrete. With the throttle being pushed a bit more, the 190 started racing down the runway. It took only a matter of seconds for Eugene to get into the air.

"Step eight, get to neutral territory."

In that moment, Oberst Eugene Zurich was now a fugitive from German law; A war criminal, a thief, and a killer.

And oh, how he loved the feeling of it.

However, he only had a second to revel in the feeling.

Bullets sparked off the surface of his aircraft, followed by the heavier impacts of cannon shells hitting his machine. Craning his head back, Eugene spotted a pair of Bf. 109 fighters slotting in behind him, their nose mounted weaponry flashing and sparking as the pilots tried to shoot down the renegade.

Banking hard left, Eugene threw the 190 into a hard turn to lose the pursuers. Harsh g-forces pushed against Eugene's body, threatening to make him black out. Given the 190s smaller build, the 109s over shot the smaller aircraft as they attempted to follow his turn. However, Eugene seemed to have forgotten where he was. Within seconds, he was back over the airfield he just escaped. Only now, the air was alive with search lights and anti-aircraft fire. Flak rattled the 190 as Eugene swerved and maneuvered his way through the fire.

Although Eugene was an expert pilot and an ace, his luck was bound to run out eventually.

A flak shell erupted directly beneath the aircraft. The belly was torn away, leaving a series of gaping holes right beneath Eugene. Shrapnel cut into him, causing more pain to rocket through his body. The shock was enough to make him black out momentarily. Seconds seemed to become hours as time slowed for Eugene as he regained a state of consciousness. His hand seemed to act on its' own volition. He watched as his own hand forced the control stick forward, making the nose of the fighter pitch downward towards the dark forest below.

"Step nine, leave nothing behind."

As the fighter crawled towards the earth, Eugene looked up towards the night sky. For all his faults, for all his twisted tactics and devious schemes, Eugene once dreamed of studying the stars. If he was going to die, then the stars would be the last thing he would see before everything would go black.

However, the one thing he did not expect to see was a series of shooting stars racing across the night sky.

In his dying state, Eugene couldn't help but be in pure awe.

A bright flash suddenly enveloped his world, driving away the blackness that was taking his vision. All he could do was screw his eyes shut to keep the white light out, but even that did nothing to help against the harshness. However, the moment it appeared, the light vanished.

Blinking his eyes clear, Eugene quickly looked about at his surroundings. The forest that was racing towards him was gone, instead replaced by vast expanse of golden wheat. It was no longer night time now, rather it was a bright, sunny day. The sun gleamed off the wheat as the dying fighter limped through the air.

"Where am I...?" he asked himself. His answer came in the form of more sparking bullets on his wing surfaces.

The 109s were still on his tail. Somehow, they managed to be taken to this prairie with him.

Pulling the stick back violently, the struggling 190 arced upwards, missing the 109s by mere inches as the two fighters raced below and past. The engine of the 190 began coughing, telling Eugene he needed to do something before he stalled. Pushing the rudder right, the 190 nosed over and began racing back towards the earth. Pulling up, Eugene saw the twin 109s split, perform mirroring turns, then lined up one behind the other.

They were going for a head on. If one fighter missed his mark, the following fighter would clean up the mess.

"Fine. If I die, I'm taking you both with me!" Eugene screamed. Adrenaline pulsed through his veins, driving his heart into rapid beats. He could feel his pulse in his neck as the distance between the three fighters drew closer. The rear fighter raised a bit behind the first, lining up his nose mounted weaponry for a killing shot.

Eugene smashed the trigger.

Like an orchestra of destruction, two machine guns and four cannons spit hot death at the approaching 109s. In a matter of seconds, Eugene watched as the green and white tracers tore into the lead fighter, peeling back the cowling and wing surfaces like tin foil. A second later and the lead fighter erupted into a fire ball. The Daimler-Benz engine powering the fighter launched into the air, plowing through the rear fighter as it tried to evade the fire ball. Eugene passed by the destruction, watching the tail of the rear fighter be sheered away by the flying engine in milliseconds. As for the rest of the machine, it simply tumbled away.

No movement came from the pilot within, but Eugene could see a splatter of red within the canopy.

He allowed himself a breath.

In that moment, the 190s' engine completely shut off.

Silence enveloped the cockpit, and Eugene began to panic. Looking around in a frantic state, he tried to find a suitable place to land his dead fighter. Roughly five-hundred yards away, a lone plateau sat among the ocean of wheat. Lining the fighter up for its' final approach, Eugene toggled for the landing gear to lower. As the plateau drew closer, he toggled for the flaps to lower into their landing position. The bleeding speed shuddered the fighter, rattling the teeth in Eugene's skull.

Looking at the dashboard, the gear indicator told him that the left and rear wheels had lowered, but there was no sign of life from the right gear.

"Shit."

Eugene did not have time to improvise. With each passing second, he was drastically losing speed, and the plateau was just thirty feet away. Pulling the nose up, he attempted to land the crippled machine. Seconds passed, and the aircraft jumped, telling him he had his wheels made contact. Without warning, the right wing drops and slams into the ground. Sheering away, the machine spins right, breaking off the left landing gear and landing on its' stomach. All Eugene could do was wait for the aircraft to stop, or for it to fly off the plateau.

Shutting his eyes for the second time, he waits the final verdict of his actions.

With a dying screech, the 190 came to its' final resting position, falling into a shallow ditch in the surface of the plateau. With one final jostle, Eugene finally breathed a sigh of relief. As the 190 creaked and groaned, he allowed himself to succumb to the blackness that had started creeping into his vision. The adrenaline was wearing off, bringing with it all the aches and pure pain that waited to assault Eugene.

As his eyes fluttered closed, Eugene Zurich, Ex-Oberst of the Luftwaffe, awaited to be judged before God himself.

Author's Note

Yet another human!? Yep, that's right dear readers.
I hope two chapters in one day wasn't too much, I had to churn this out before I went to work.
Hope you enjoyed!