Jack circled his Spitfire above the stricken Dornier and watched as the crew bailed-out over the English countryside. He was relieved to see four parachutes bloom-out below him, which likely meant the whole crew had survived for he still held some sympathy for fellow airmen, even if they were the enemy.
A sense of satisfaction coarsed through Jack at the thought that he was now an Ace, having downed five enemy aircraft. It was about time, for he was now a veteran Flight Lieutenant at the venerable age of 23 and had some catching-up to do with some of the younger lads of the squadron, who had fought valiantly a few years earlier in the Battle of Britain.
Heading home towards his airfield through clear, blue skies, Jack banged his fist joyfully against the canopy of his Spit, loving this fantastic aircraft and thanking it's speed and agility for saving his life and his success in air combat. The poor plane had been stuck a couple of times less than an hour before, having been strafed by a Messerschmidt 109, but was handling reasonably well, so he was hopeful he would get home safely.
Once back on the ground after a bumpy landing, Jack gave a cheery thumbs-up to the landing crew, unharnessed and jumped out of the plane excitedly. Inspecting the fuselage, he was shocked to find a couple of holes large enough to put his fist through from the 20mm cannon of the ME109. Still, he was alive to fight another day and would soon be in the arms of his lovely fiancee Milly.
The squadron had lost no pilots that day and Jack had registered the only kill, so he joined the lads at the mess for a celebratory beer, before jumping into his little red MG sports car in pursuit of Milly. Zooming between the hedgerows of the narrow, country lanes towards Chipping-Sudbury, Jack felt exhilarated. He looked down at the passenger seat to see the small present he'd got for Milly and knew that she would be doubly pleased to see him.
Skidding into the gravel car park of the Golden Lion pub, Jack jumped out of the car, grabbed the little brown package and dashed inside. "She's upstairs waiting for you, Jack" said the landlord cheerily from behind the bar: "but you want to be having a wee dram first?". Downing his whisky and slapping the landlord playfully on the shoulder, Jack bounded up the creaky wooden staircase to his lodgings on the first floor.
On opening the door, pretty, little Milly, still in her figure-hugging RAF ATA uniform, but with jacket buttons undone, sprang into his arms for a passionate kiss. This beautiful blond was his first and only love, soon to be his wife forever if the war spared him.
