With the Force of a Typhoon

Normandy, D-Day.

A squadron of British Typhoons had taken off to cover the operation of D-Day. "Hey lads! Everyone there?"

"Aye. We're all here. Intel says we should be expecting heavy resistance, including Fw 190s, Ta 154s, and Bf 109s." The entire squadron was nervous. Even the squadron leader's voice was shaky from fear.

They were nearing the beaches where a hail of flak and machine gun fire dawned upon them. "Enemy fighters! Dead ahead! Break formation, break formation!" The fighters mowed a few Typhoons down while the Brits shot back. The dogfighting continued for ten minutes, and most of the Typhoons were down. One lone pilot was up against five enemy planes. Their machine guns boomed. Their loud voices causing terror on the lone pilot. A bullet hit the precious black gold known as gasoline. It ignited. His wing tore off. He slammed into the ocean. All he could see, was black.