The pilots of Rabbit Squadron are at RAF Manston's dispersal, the telephone rings...
"Rabbit Squadron Scramble!"
"Where to Sir!"
"Follow me idiots and find out!"
Fully worked up on their new Spitfires (all apart from young Simon) the Rabbits are airborne in under two minutes.
Not a moment too soon. Oberst August Von Richter, leads his fighters in fast and low!
On a parallel course, slightly to the West, JU87s head for Manston.
Both the German formations are staggered at the speed of the RAFs reaction. Realising his 109s are vulnerable to the nimble Tommy fighters, at low level, Von Righter's formation claw for height. The Stuka CO tries desperately to get to dive bombing height...
"Rabbit Leader, Red Three, yellow nosed bastards six o'clock high, coming down now!"
"Roger Red Three, I see 'em. Rabbits, break right and climb."
"Stick to me like glue, Simon!"
Both formations flash through head on, all guns blazing. In a blink it's every man for himself in a vicious, low level dogfight!
First blood to young Simon, (he's only got seven hours on Spits!) his eight Brownings shredding a 109.
257 Squadron are equally as lethal, nailing a brace of 109s.
The Hurricanes reef round and latch onto the Stukas, blazing tracer flashes through the sky.
109s rush to the rescue!
The calibre of the Jerry airgunner is second to none, a Stuka rear gunners exposing the Hurricane's fatal weakness. With petrol tanks exploding a Hurricane crashes onto the beach.
A brief glory, the second Stuka gets the chop!
The swirling dogfight allows Von Richter and his wingman to slip through to Manston. The two yellow noses flash over the airfield, cannon and machine guns working.
In seconds the 109s have gone, leaving the lame ducks in flames.
Oberst Von Richter looks in his rear view mirror, and almost wets his self, his wingman explodes. A little green and brown fighter has attached itself to him with incredible venom! The Von desperately breaks, white hot lead smashes into his fighter. As fast as it appeared the Tommy fighter is gone.
In high dudgeon at running out of ammunition as he had Von Richter's 109 cold. Squadron Leader Sailor lobs back into Manston. What he sees, doesn't improve his mood, one jot.
"Corporal!?"
"Sir!"
"Where are you taking those vultures?"
"Officers to the mess. NCO's to the guard room, Sir."
"Like hell you are! They're responsible for all that, get 'em to clean it up!"
"But what about the officers, Sir?"
"Give 'em a bloody shovel!"
Over the coast August Oberst Von Richter, struggles to control his crippled fighter. With the red low fuel indicator winking malevolently, he crosses the Kanal, to make a rough belly landing at St. Omer. As he scrambles from the wreck and sits, exhausted on the 109s wing, his chief mechanic sprints up.
"Herr Oberst, have you been wounded?""Nein Willi," replied Von Richter grimly.
"But, the Tommys will be a tougher nut to crack, than the Poles or French!"* * * * * * 
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