Battle of Britain Page #4

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We are destroying...

as many planes on the ground

as in the air.

Thank you, Schmidt.

On the desk, please.

Reichsmarschall Goering

will certainly be interested...

in my report.

To date, almost 300 planes

have been destroyed.

Almost half the entire British

fighter force, gentlemen.

The Colonel can report

what he pleases.

The fact remains...

that our bombers continue

to be intercepted.

Because the English are now

bringing in their reserves.

As from tomorrow, we'll increase

our attacks on these airfields.

And five Luftwaffes will attack

the north and north-east.

But that is outside the range

of our fighters, Colonel.

Also outside the range

of the English fighters.

Not even a Spitfire can be in the

north and the south... at the same time

How far are we from the coast?

Everybody, Action Stations.

Tomato Heinz to all.

Tomato Heinz to all.

Another ten minutes to target.

All ready at Fighter Stations.

Another ten minutes

to target. End.

Look! Spitfire!

Help yourself, everybody.

There's no fighter escort.

There! Right behind us!

Soapbox Leader, break it off.

Home and tea.

For once you deserve it.

Well done, everybody.

Heinkel, three-second burst.

Starboard engine.

Ruddy great flamer.

Any identification marks?

Yellow stripes on the wings.

Wing leader. See it go down?

Did I? Nyaow... plunk!

Hmm. Graham and Jack

will confirm your story.

That's three of you who got him.

1/3 of a kill, laddie, 1/3.

Sir.

- What did you hit?

- A Heinkel.

- Anyone see mine go in?

- Didn't know you were with us.

Well done, Peter.

Only 1/3 of a one, sir.

Oh, that's better than nothing.

I used to blast away

and never hit a sausage.

One thing though...

What's that, sir?

It takes us two years

to train people like you.

Suppose your controls

had been damaged.

What would've happened

to that idiotic victory roll?

You'd have been spread

all over the damn field...

like strawberry jam.

Never again. Clear?

Yes, sir.

Something to make Stuffy's day.

The old man's just gone down

to the OPs room with Sasha.

Final figures

of the northern raids...

twenty-three without loss.

Jolly good.

I'll show it to him.

Right.

We're getting 6 volunteer pilots

from Coastal Command...

and from

the Fleet Air Arms, sir...

five from each of the Fairday

battle squadrons...

and three from

army cooperation.

That's thirty, is it?

Not enough.

We lost that many yesterday.

And the air staff hesitate

to weaken the light bombers...

in case of invasion, sir.

We need pilots now.

What about the foreign squadrons

under training?

Czechs, Poles?

I know your feelings about

the language difficulties.

They don't understand a word

that's said over the air.

They're a menace

to themselves and us.

I'll try and cut more corners

off the training program.

Pilots are doing well...

enemy losing

at the rate of two to one...

then he can afford to, can't he?

Never sends more than half

his bombers at one time.

We must find more pilots...

or lose.

Begin. This is off speed.

Check 5-0-1 back

at ready desk...

I think you ought

to see this, sir.

Thank you.

Air raid warning.

Sector Three Red.

Rabbit Squadron.

Tallyho, tallyho, Red Section.

We'll take the rear starboard.

Yellow, you take the port.

Yellow-1 Wilco.

Tallyho, Yellow.

Amaliel, keep your eyes open

for the Red Squad.

Rabbit Leader, Red-3,

you're on those bastards...

Six o'clock high.

Coming down now.

Roger, Red-3. I see them.

Rabbit, brave right and climb.

Behind you, Andy! On your tail!

Get out, Andy!

Jump!

Hurry up! Out!

All out!

Don't any of you Joes

talk English?

Corporal!

Sir!

Where are you taking

those vultures?

Officers to the mess,

ensigns to the guard room, sir.

Like hell you are. They're

responsible for all that.

- Get them to clear it up.

- But what about the officers?

Give them a bloody shovel.

Come on, step with it!

Skipper hates Jerries.

He'll hate me if you don't

get that gun repaired.

Then wrap up this little lot.

Only eight for the morning?

Got to do better than that.

Five are write-offs.

One has another guard gone,

and two are missing, sir.

Mr. Anthony and Sergeant Moore.

And these two

are hundred-hour checks.

They've been at it

for 48 hours solid, sir.

I know.

Where the hell have you been?!

Learning to swim.

- Do your best, Blaine.

- Roger.

You get one?

All I got was a bellyful

of English Channel.

When are you going to learn?

I didn't know they were there.

Never fly straight and level...

for more than thirty seconds

in the combat area.

How many times have I told you?

Come on, I'll give you a lift.

I'd rather walk, sir.

Cut out the "sir."

You called your wife?

All right, boy. Get in.

Here you are, sir.

Thank you.

It's ridiculous!

We go up four

or five times a day...

and every time we come down,

more potholes.

There are more potholes until we

can't bloody well get in a door.

We'll get this place

operational again.

You won't. Not until

someone decides...

to protect it while we're up.

What flaming genius

thought of sending us...

to that dump of a flying club?

Don't blame me.

Direct orders from group.

Park himself.

It's not a bad little field.

I've seen it. Damp tents...

and a nasty little shack

full of dead flies.

At least you won't have

the Jerries visiting you.

I don't blame them.

How much longer, Hobbes?

The engine's overheating,

and so am I.

We either stand down

or blow up.

Which do you want?

Hostile 1-6, reconfirm, please.

Need some more

Yellow sevens, Flight.

This is R-29,

now forty plus. 1-5.

Yes. 2-6 and 4-1 detected, sir.

7 Squadron's airborne, sir.

Thank you. Let 12 Group know.

And make sure they know...

they're protecting

my airfields while they're up.

- They have been told, sir.

- Tell them again.

Pine Tree Leader,

this is Turkey Control.

Vector 1-9-2.

I have some trade for you

over Maidstone.

Turkey Control,

Pine Tree Leader.

Roger 1-9-0.

Pine Tree, this is Turkey.

Twenty plus bandits

and Angels 2-0 heading west.

Roger, Turkey Control.

Indiana left.

Making low level attack.

Roger. I see you.

I'm breaking left to attack.

My God!

Fighters coming down now!

Fire speed. Break.

Break!

On your tail, Jamie.

Enemy aircraft

approaching, sir.

Coming straight for us.

Flying course, 21st.

About eight thousand feet.

I'm taking cover.

Tin hats, everybody.

That should damn well

never have happened.

- Where the hell is 12 Group?

- They were requested, sir.

They're nowhere in sight.

Find out what the devil

they think they're playing at.

They just fell on us.

They got my number two

and the C.O.

You saw Canfield go down?

It blew up.

Just blew up.

- Bad as we thought?

- Worse.

Kenley and Biggenor

are shambles again...

and the rest

are not much better.

God knows how many aircraft

we'll have in the morning.

All because 12 Group

didn't do their stuff.

Leigh-Mallory

and his so-called Big Wings.

Might as well stay on the ground

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