The Will To Live

Chapter 1

*John's POV*
I kick back and look at the newspaper in my hand. My buddies are in the field messing around. I look at the headline. "September 23, 1940: London pounded by another Luftwaffe attack, civilians trying to keep morale high." Damn Nazi bombers. Well, England seems to be pulling through. The Nazis haven't landed on the south coast yet. I put down the paper and walk over to my Spitfire. "How she doing?" I ask the mechanic. "Fine," he replies,"you don't catch bullets every time."  I chuckle. Suddenly a voice cackles over the radio:"Enemy bombers incoming! A couple hundred!" "Scramble!!" I yell, jumping into the cockpit of my Spitfire. Everyone jumps into their planes. I rev the engine and take off down the runway. My squad follows behind me. I can hear the air raid sirens going off, plus AA guns shooting flak into the air. Soon I spot them. Hundreds of Ju-88 bombers, and around 50 ME-109 escorts. "Bogies, 2 o'clock high!" I radio to my wingmen as we ascend to fire at the bombers.
I press down my guns, opening fire. A bomber's left engine is taken out, the wrecked plane spins down until it hits the ground and explodes. A ME-109 comes in to take me out. I pinwheel and end up behind him. His rudder and elevators are shot off and the poor guy parachutes out. A few bullets rip through his parachute and he plummets to the ground. My wingmen and I attack the bombers again, one bomber explodes, it cargo detonating. The shockwave knocked a few bombers out of the sky, but we already peeled away to attack again. "Good one, mate!" I radio to my wingman, Chris, who hit the exploding bomber. Suddenly a me-109 swoops in and fires at my plane. The cockpit shattered and my face was cut up by all the glass. "MOTHER FUCKER!!" I yell as I chase down the fighter and shred his plane in a hail of bullets. Poor chap never made it out.
We continue to take out bombers and escorts, not one of us going down. A bomber near mean takes a direct AA shell and is obliterated, showering the surrounding area with shrapnel. "Heads up!" I radio to another pilot, George, as a flaming bomber falls through the air near his plane. By the end of the attack, only 74 out of 215 Nazi aircraft survived. We all landed and celebrated. I pulled out a bottle of whiskey and we all started drinking. Nazi bastards got what they deserved.