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- Dec 30, 2020
- Location
- Pittsburgh, PA, USA
12 JUNE 1944 (D-Day+6)
0030 HOURS
SOMEWHERE OVER THE ENGLISH CHANNEL
Captain Scott Jones was sweating bullets as his P-51 Mustang fighter was approaching the French coastline, his comrades flying in formation ahead of a wave of bombers on a nighttime bombing raid. He'd flown hundreds of missions before, but there was something about this one. The Colonel told them all what to expect: lots of Luftwaffe to greet them, some pretty heavy flak, all familiar threats that he'd dealt with before. But he still couldn't shake the feeling that something might go horribly wrong. They all dipped their wings as they flew over the Normandy beaches, a salute to their brothers on the ground who gave the ultimate sacrifice on that coast six days prior.
After too little time, they flew past the relative safety of Allied-controlled territory and began to look for the German welcoming committee. Allied radar operators on the ground were watching out for enemy aircraft, and it seemed that crazy new machine worked, as they radioed Jones that there was a wave coming in on their left flank, at nine o'clock. They all turned as one to meet them, advising the main group to continue on to their target. This proved to not be the disaster that Jones was afraid of, as even though the sky was soon full of the sounds of machine-gun fire, they managed to shoot down all of the approaching enemies, with only one of their aircraft suffering some moderate damage. The pilot was able to fly back to Allied lines, it would turn out later, but he ended up having to ditch the plane. Back in the present, Jones scored the final kill, and he sat back and allowed himself a deep breath...which prevented him from spotting the disastrous piece of flaming wreckage flying straight towards his tail.
The impact was earth-shattering, but thankfully Jones had the good sense to realize he needed to bail out. A quick glance at the altimeter showed he was high enough for a safe jump, but he had no time to waste. So he told his XO (executive officer) that he was in command and that he was bailing out, pushed open the cockpit canopy, and leapt from the doomed plane into the cold night air, pulling his parachute after a count of ten and feeling the familiar yank of the chute opening as well as a profound sense of relief that at least he'd make it to the ground in one piece.
That is, until a shot rang out from the ground, and he found himself plummeting faster and faster, and he screamed, knowing the bullet had torn a hole in the chute. He was screaming loud enough to wake everyone from there to Berlin, until he hit his head on a tree branch and blacked out. He had no idea that he had been hanging from a tree for several hours, before the local Resistance had prevented his capture by the Germans that found him in the early hours of the morning. He had no idea that they carried his unconscious form to a nearby farmhouse. He had no idea just how lucky he was to be alive. And he certainly had no idea that a beautiful young woman would be by his bedside when he woke.
0030 HOURS
SOMEWHERE OVER THE ENGLISH CHANNEL
Captain Scott Jones was sweating bullets as his P-51 Mustang fighter was approaching the French coastline, his comrades flying in formation ahead of a wave of bombers on a nighttime bombing raid. He'd flown hundreds of missions before, but there was something about this one. The Colonel told them all what to expect: lots of Luftwaffe to greet them, some pretty heavy flak, all familiar threats that he'd dealt with before. But he still couldn't shake the feeling that something might go horribly wrong. They all dipped their wings as they flew over the Normandy beaches, a salute to their brothers on the ground who gave the ultimate sacrifice on that coast six days prior.
After too little time, they flew past the relative safety of Allied-controlled territory and began to look for the German welcoming committee. Allied radar operators on the ground were watching out for enemy aircraft, and it seemed that crazy new machine worked, as they radioed Jones that there was a wave coming in on their left flank, at nine o'clock. They all turned as one to meet them, advising the main group to continue on to their target. This proved to not be the disaster that Jones was afraid of, as even though the sky was soon full of the sounds of machine-gun fire, they managed to shoot down all of the approaching enemies, with only one of their aircraft suffering some moderate damage. The pilot was able to fly back to Allied lines, it would turn out later, but he ended up having to ditch the plane. Back in the present, Jones scored the final kill, and he sat back and allowed himself a deep breath...which prevented him from spotting the disastrous piece of flaming wreckage flying straight towards his tail.
The impact was earth-shattering, but thankfully Jones had the good sense to realize he needed to bail out. A quick glance at the altimeter showed he was high enough for a safe jump, but he had no time to waste. So he told his XO (executive officer) that he was in command and that he was bailing out, pushed open the cockpit canopy, and leapt from the doomed plane into the cold night air, pulling his parachute after a count of ten and feeling the familiar yank of the chute opening as well as a profound sense of relief that at least he'd make it to the ground in one piece.
That is, until a shot rang out from the ground, and he found himself plummeting faster and faster, and he screamed, knowing the bullet had torn a hole in the chute. He was screaming loud enough to wake everyone from there to Berlin, until he hit his head on a tree branch and blacked out. He had no idea that he had been hanging from a tree for several hours, before the local Resistance had prevented his capture by the Germans that found him in the early hours of the morning. He had no idea that they carried his unconscious form to a nearby farmhouse. He had no idea just how lucky he was to be alive. And he certainly had no idea that a beautiful young woman would be by his bedside when he woke.
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