Behind A Hurricane

The RAF commander was yelling over the propellers of Captain Sphinx’s Hawker Hurricane.

“You’re a what?! Turn that blasted thing off!”

Sphinx leaned over into the cockpit and the propeller sputtered to a stop. Captain Sphinx was definitely not the average-looking pilot.

“A captain,” the American said with a confident smile.

“Surely not!” The old British RAF officer said. “Get your arse to the Commandant. You couldn’t be older than eighteen if a day!”

“What? But the raid’s tomorrow!”

The commander - who Sphinx knew as Tressel - rubbed his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “The Americans must be low on pilots to send someone as young as you,” he murmured under his breath... but loud enough for Sphinx to hear it.

Sphinx sighed, it wasn’t the first time he’d dealt with such misconceptions, his face and features had always been rather boyish. Though he was tall and lanky, his face maintaining the youthful looks, he had seen much in his years. 

The pilot wasn’t really surprised by the reaction, perhaps it would have been better not to mention prior rank. He had joined the RAF in North Africa in the hopes of putting his skills against the Germans and Italians, but it seemed he wasn’t going to get the chance. 

“Listen to me, boy,” the RAF said, sneering. “We only accept men eighteen years or older into the corps.”

Sphinx met his gaze, “With all due respect sir, I am older than eighteen. You should have a file of my credentials.” 

The British colonel, still sneering under his black mustache, rolled his eyes. “Yes, I saw. I find them rather suspect, and possible forgeries. Go home till you grow up.”

Sphinx’s face briefly flashed in anger, “It’s one thing to question my age sir, it’s another entirely to call my integrity into question. Give me a chance at least - I can outfly anyone.”  

“Really, now? I’m about to have you escorted off, you honestly expect me to believe—?” 

There was the wail of the air raid siren. 

“What the devil?” the commander growled. 

Sphinx bolted for the flightline. 

“Get back here boy!” 

But Sphinx wasn’t listening: the airfield was under attack. Somehow, enemy aircraft had avoided radar and snuck up on them. AA crews were manning guns and firing as bombers flew overhead, bombs exploding and sending plumes of smoke into the air. 

Fighters were also strafing the airfield, Sphinx watched as a pilot was cut down trying to get to his plane. Gritting his teeth against the grisly sight Sphinx kept running and vaulted into the cockpit of a Hurricane. The airfield was chaos, so no one questioned him. Besides, they were down at least one pilot. Someone had to do something. 

Slamming his fist on the ignition the propeller whined before sputtering to life. Closing the canopy Sphinx began to taxi out. He watched as one Hurricane ahead of him took flight only to plummet in a fiery ball as fighters strafed the runway. 

That could easily be Sphinx. 

Taking a breath, Sphinx gunned the throttle as the plane rolled and bounced across the runway and a ME-109 fighter was making another run. 

“Come on, come on.” Sphinx growled as he felt pinpricks of cold sweat on his body, his heart thudded against his chest as he gained enough velocity to pull back on the stick and rise off the ground. The German fighter opened fire, flames bursting from the wings and nose, tracers whisked under Sphinx’s plane as he gunned the throttle.    

Snapping the rudder to port, Sphinx rolled the Hurricane before levelling out. Priority was the strafing fighters: while the bombers were doing more damage the fighters were specifically hampering any sort of counter strike. If Sphinx could knock a few down, other fighters could get airborne and take out the bombers.  

The young pilot’s head swiveled around as he executed an Immelman loop. His keen eyes spotted a 109 making a strafing run on the base. Nosing the plane over Sphinx dove, with tiny adjustments to the control yoke he maneuvered himself to line up a shot. A squeeze on the trigger and his plane shook as he fired a burst - leading the shots perfectly, tracers slammed into the gray German fighter followed soon after by white vapor and black smoke pouring from the aircraft as its dive turned into a plummet. 

“Scratch one!” Sphinx shouted. 

Bullets and cannon shells whizzed past his plane and Sphinx turned hard left rudder into his foe, gambling that the enemy fighter would overshoot him. The enemy fighter whizzed past and instantly began to turn back towards Sphinx. As the American did likewise, it was a duel to see who would close the distance and make the kill. 

The Rolls Royce engine snarled as Sphinx jockeyed into position. Almost as naturally as breathing, he worked the yoke and throttle, the two fighters lined shots up. 

An exchange of gunfire. 

Sphinx could hear projectiles tearing into the fabric of his Hurricane, just as he could see sparks and metal fly from the 109. A splash of red in the cockpit of the 109 and Sphinx knew he had won. 

He could feel air against his face. A quick glance at the cockpit showed he nearly suffered the same fate as his enemy. Bullet holes riddled his Hurricane, but no gauges were in red: He could still fly and he still had ammunition.

He could see flak bursts and machinegun fire coming from the airfield. The ground crews were finally putting up a fight, he could see other Hurricanes joining the fight. 

Keying the frequency, Sphinx spoke. “This is Eagle 6! I’m going for the bombers.” 

“Acknowledged.” 

Sphinx gained altitude and found himself faced with at least four twin engined bombers. A few had engines smoking - they must have taken damage from the air defenses, or maybe another fighter had already made an attack. 

Like a lion on the Savannah, Sphinx picked the weak one out of the formation and closed the distance, all the while checking his surroundings for other enemies. 

The belly of the bomber was growing larger in his sights. Sphinx squeezed the trigger, and then dove away as the gunners returned fire. 

Weaving about, the pilot avoided the bomber’s defensive fire. Sphinx turned and changed his approach, he gunned the throttle and gained altitude over the slower bombers, nosing his plane over he dove on his target, guns flashing. Sphinx saw one of the bomber’s wings shear off and the plane fell out of formation. 

Third victory. 

Sphinx leveled up from his dive, his vision going gray from the strain of G-Forces against his body. Sphinx grunted, trying to normalize his vision. He blinked a bit and turned his attention back to the bombers. He could see another bomber falling from formation, other Hurricanes were harrying the bombers now. 

Sphinx moved to join the fight, but a glance at his ammunition counter showed he was out. 

“Damnit!” The pilot shouted, slamming his hand on the dashboard. Sphinx broke off his pursuit and headed back to base, hoping the airstrip was still serviceable and not riddled with bomb craters. 

Sadly he found the runway was indeed littered with craters and debris. It was going to be a hard landing no matter where he set down. 

“Well, here goes nothing.” Sphinx gritted his teeth as he lowered the landing gear. 

His plane landed in a plume of dust and bounced, then bounced again, he rolled along before the wheel caught on something and he felt himself tilt over. Sphinx killed the engine and struggled out of the canopy. The sounds of distant fighting could still be heard. The whine of engines, and the distant sound of guns and explosions. 

Sphinx struggled out of the cockpit and looked around at the dusty airfield. Ground crew were moving around trying to do what they could.

“Are you alright?” one of the ground crew asked jogging close to Sphinx.

Sphinx nodded.

“Did you get any of those Hun bastards?” 

Sphinx held up three fingers. 

“Brilliant!” the man grinned.

“I need a new plane,” Sphinx grunted. 

The man shook his head. “Everything’s damaged, in the air, or destroyed.”

Sphinx nodded, there was nothing to do now but wait for the all clear. Three down, he had probably proved his worth now. 

He was wrong. 

“No one authorized you to take flight,” the stuffy commandant sniffed. 

Sphinx kept his bearing but his blood boiled. He had downed three enemy aircraft, confirmed kills. If he hadn’t done what he did then the damage would probably have been more severe.

“I hope it was worth it. Because you won’t be flying again. You’re off the duty roster until further notice. Be grateful I’m not placing you under confinement.”

Sphinx could barely contain his rage. 

“You’re dismissed,” was the dusty reply. 

After he was a good few feet away from the office he took his rage out on a rock, he kicked it down the dusty ground. 

“Unbelievable! Does he just have it out for me?” 

He dragged himself to the officers cantina and slumped against the makeshift bar. One of his fellow pilots clapped him on the back.

“You going up for the raid? Two more and you’ll have made ace.” 

Sphinx already was an ace, but that little conflict he had flown in an unofficial capacity. 

“No, he grounded me.” 

The other pilot looked aghast. “Say what? I’ll talk to him, he has got to know he’s making a mistake.” 

Sphinx shrugged, “I think the fact I flew without proper authorization is what he cares about more than how many I downed.” 

The other pilot shook his head, “He has always been a hard arse for regulations. Me and the lads will talk with him, maybe get him to reconsider.” 

“I hope so.” Sphinx sighed.  

What more could he do to prove himself? It was like he was being shut away in a box. He trudged back to his quarters as he heard the distant howl of a jack