On the blood of our fathers, on the blood of our sons (NBAPTAG 2)
1940, English Channel, Air Sergeant Micheal Avery.
"Come in, Empire 1. This is Air Sergeant Micheal Avery. We are awaiting orders." Micheal spoke into the radio, setting it down and awaiting a response. The sky was shining it's regular bright blue with the sun rays glistening through and dancing on the ocean. The salty sea air filled the pilots nostrils as he kept close to the channel.
"...I repeat. Come in, Empire 1." He picked up the radio and spoke into it again, holding his radio to his ear. The gentle fuzz lead to no response. He sighed and put it down, looking at all the gadgets and instruments on the dashboard of his fighter plane. He'd done his best to polish and clean it all, but it always some how remained rusty and scratched. He glanced over at the photo of him and his dad at Manchester in 1937. A tiny one sided smile grew on his face as he shook his head in a dismissive manner.
"Micheal?!" He radio fuzzed and crackled violently in it's holder. Micheal jumped a little and grabbed the radio, pushing down the metal button to talk into it
"Yes! Come in! Is this Empire 1?" He asked, not recognizing the voice. It sounded American.
"N-No! Listen! You need to get away from the Channel! They-" the radio suddenly cut off and went fuzzy. Micheal turned pale and tightened his grip on the Yoke. He looked at his Radar and saw blips approaching from dead on. Micheal cracked his neck and turned the plane back, grabbing his radio.
"Empire 1! This is Air Sergeant Micheal Avery of Recon Group 5! You nee-" He was cut off by a bullet smashing though the wing of his plane.
"Ah shit! Empire 1! We have enemy aircraft laying down fire on my plane! Requesting back-" He was cut off a second time by the glass above his head smashing wide open and a large gush of freezing cold wind hitting the back of his head as glass rained down on him. He ducked down below the seat and did a barrel role, trying to take evasive action.
"Empire 1! I need some fucking back up here!" He shouted into the radio, another bullet penetrating the plane. Suddenly, he lost control. The controls wouldn't work and the plane wasn't turning.
"Shit! Shit!" He cried out, madly rattling the yoke. The plane began to go into a mad death dive with insane turns at every moment. He breathed heavily and tensed up as the sky and the sea reversed positions every 2 seconds. Ending with a fatal splash.
