Stories of Action, Adventure and Romance
Adult reading
Letitia wanted the treasure - a dagger given by a Chinese Emperor to his favourite concubine, and worth a fortune. Kasper Temple couldn’t let Lettie trek off alone into the Burmese jungle in search of a cursed dagger. He would give his life to keep safe […]

Varian let loose a string of expletives when he saw his plane
destroyed. “Curse the ruddy bastards!”
“Was that your plane, sir?” Prior Putman asked, running alongside
him.
“Yes, damn it, so where’s yours? I’ll take that. I have to get up
there.”
“It’s already taken off. I’m sure that’s mine up there.”
Varian swore some more. “Did your brother take it?”
“No, sir, his plane is just over there.”
Varian had the most awful feeling that Pru was in the air. He
couldn’t be sure, but he now thought it likely. “Right, I’ll take Unwin’s
plane. You two can have your first sortie another day.”
“Yes, sir,” Prior said, falling back.
Varian got into the air as quickly as he could. Two Junkers came at
him but Virgil, who was already in the sky, managed to get the one
closest. Varian hit the other. The German planes swarmed around like
bees, but his men were attacking them with courage, and he felt proud of
them. It wasn’t long before a fresh batch of planes, mostly Hurricanes,
arrived from neighbouring airbases. Soon, the British were chasing the
Germans back across the Channel, but as Varian glanced down at the
coastal towns and villages, he saw that they had taken a battering. Even a
church had been destroyed.
Dogfights continued, and not a single one of his men were falling
for the Hun in the sun trick. In fact they went at the Hun from the sun,
and made many significant hits. The German planes were thinning out by
the time they reached the coast of France. Varian had made radio contact
with most of his men, but one refused to respond. He knew by then that
it had to be Pru.
“Flight Sergeant Prior Putman,” he said over the radio, hoping Pru
would at least respond to that name. The radio crackled, and no response
was forthcoming. He followed her plane closely, and had he not been so
bloody scared for her, then he might have felt pride. She flew and fought
as well as any man. Possibly even better. “Fight Sergeant Putman, will
you respond?” he shouted down the radio. “Turn your Spit around, and
return to base!” Then he got an answer, and he didn’t like it.
“Go to hell, Wing Commander! You can’t tell me what to do.”
“Please, go home,” he begged, “you can’t continue to…” The words
dried up in his throat. Pru’s Spit took a direct hit from a Dornier. The
cannon took out part of the port wing, and a section of fuselage. In a
plume of smoke, the plane descended. Varian didn’t know if it landed in
one piece. Cloud cover was very low. So stunned was he that for a
second he couldn’t remember how to fly his plane. His heart felt as
though it had been cleaved by a machete, and he found it hard to breathe.
Tears blinded his vision, and he sobbed. Then, above his own sobs, he
heard Virgil.
“Varian, get a grip. Fly your bloody plane. Give the order to turn
back. We need to go home.”
“Her plane went down!” Varian gasped. “It damn well went down!”
“I know, and we can’t do anything.”
“I’ve got to land.”
“In France! You bloody idiot, your plane would be shot to pieces
before you could land. There are Germans down there with anti-aircraft
missiles.”
Varian sucked in a breath. “Return home, chaps,” he muttered into
the radio. “We’ve killed enough Germans today.” He didn’t know how he
got his plane back to base. His heart felt like lead. Pru had to be dead.
His Pixie was gone.