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Spitfire Pilot
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Mark's Story (Development & Comments) - One of the few (18+)
Title: One of the Few
Author: Mark Bufton
Rating: 18+
Disclaimer: (Contains some violence related content and swear words.)
Summary:This is the beginning of my story as it stands at the moment...............enjoy. Mark. Will keep you all updated.
ONE OF THE FEW
Mark Bufton
It was a beautiful summer’s morning in 1940. The sky was clear and the suns golden glow lit up the whole airfield and made my spitfire glisten.
The maintenance crew had been busy working all through the night to fix the many battle scars that she had picked up the day before. Now she looked as good as new, not a bullet hole to be seen as she sat silently in the sun, awaiting the time that she would be needed again.
I made my way into the mess hall and slowly ate my breakfast. So slowly, in fact, that it was stone cold by the time I had finished it. It wasn’t the best breakfast I had ever tasted but what else could you ask for with the extent that the government had gone to with food rationing. You were always hungry. So hungry, in fact, that you would never mind how it tasted. As long as it was edible, you didn’t care.
After sitting down, I looked around me. There seemed to be barely a soul in sight. The mess hall looked almost completely empty. The fighting over the previous weeks has left its mark on all of our squadrons. We had lost a number of good pilots and also many of their replacements. Yesterday, two ‘inexperienced’ pilots, or ‘new blood’ as we call them, fresh out of the Operational Training Unit arrived to replace two that had been shot down over France the day before. We were scrambled within the hour and 20 minutes later they were both dead, along with my friend Peter. He had 3 Messerschmitt BF109’s on his tail and one of them struck it lucky.
We face these odds every day. The Luftwaffe has thousands of aircraft and we have nowhere near that amount. The odds scare me to death sometimes and I have had several close encounters. It never ceases to amaze me, how being so close to death changes your whole opinion on life. It seems as though the only reason I have to live is to save the ones that I love from the Nazis. I don’t know what I would do if they invaded. I’m not sure if I would have the courage to stand up to them. They would probably put us up against a wall and shoot us.
It isn’t easy making friends either. As soon as you do make friends with a pilot you can almost guarantee that within a week, one of you will be killed, so we don’t tend to do it anymore. That way it doesn’t have the same effect when you see another pilot shot down. He’s just one more unfortunate statistic.
Two weeks ago, my best friend was severely burned when his Spitfire crash-landed in a field just a mile short of the runway. He died three days ago. He had a wife and two month old daughter. They are the ones I really feel sorry for. He only saw his daughter once. When she was born.
“Flight Lieutenant Bufton”, called a voice. “Flight Lieutenant Bufton”. It was my commanding officer. “My office”, he yelled. He wasn’t angry with me, it is just the way that he speaks naturally. He always seems to be yelling. I am, what he calls ‘his number one pilot’, and he often calls me into his office to get my opinion on a particular matter, usually an operation or a sortie.
I slowly got up and put my empty plate on the trolley. I then made my way out of the mess hall and over to the wing commanders office.
I knocked on the door. “Enter” called the Wing Co, “Oh, it’s you. Please, sit down”. His regular rough, almost groan of a voice had gone and instead there was a soft, sensual even sympathetic sound protruding from his mouth. It was a sound that I had never heard from him before. Something wasn’t right. In fact, I was certain that something was terribly wrong.
“It has been three weeks since your brother was shot down, no?” he asked. Immediately, my heart sank. My brother and I had joined the RAF at the same time but he had been posted to RAF Hornchurch, whereas I was posted to RAF Duxford. He had been shot down three weeks earlier and nothing had been heard of him, until now.
There was a long and painful silence. So painful, I begged him to say something because, well, I can’t really describe how I felt at that moment. It felt like someone had ripped my heart from my body and shredded it up before my eyes. My brother and I were so close and I had hoped, for three long weeks that he was alright. Maybe he was taken prisoner or he had been picked up by a fishing boat and was on his way home. Now he is gone and he isn’t going to come back.
“Look”, said the Wing Co, “Your brother was aware of the risks when he joined up and he accepted them, as have you”. I just looked at him and there was a short pause that seemed to go on for hours. “Why don’t you take the weekend off and get away from all this?” he said, “You aren’t doing anyone any favours by staying here in the state that you are in. Go home and get some rest”.
There was another long pause before I broke the silence. “What if I am needed here, sir?” I asked, “If the invasion starts, and I’m not here, how are we going to fight the Germans?”
“I’m sure we can manage a few days with one less pilot” he replied softly, “You need some rest so go home, that’s an order”.
“But Sir!”
“Go home Flight Lieutenant, Now”
“Yes Sir”, I replied. I then stood up, saluted him and marched out of the room.
I got on the train that afternoon. My wife was both pleased and surprised to see me home. I didn’t usually go home for the weekend. I waited until I got a week’s leave. I didn’t go out that weekend. In fact, I sat in my bedroom and cried. My father had always told me that men don’t cry and I must have let him down because I cried like a baby and I didn’t stop crying all weekend.
I went back on Monday morning to find that two more pilots had been shot down. Fortunately, both of them had bailed out and were taken prisoner by SS troops in France.
Copyright © 2006 Mark Bufton
Post Edited By Spitfire Pilot, Feb/13/2007, 1:42 pm
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Jan/27/2006, 12:23 pm
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Kev2012
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Re: Mark's Story - One of the few (18+) Contains some violence related content and sear words
I enjoyed your story as a whole, couldn’t really pick up on the things mattie could because I have no frame of reference in the field you are talking about, but what he wrote makes perfect sense. The story was really enjoyable, your start built up a nice imagery of the situation and reality of "war", sometimes you repeated descriptive words in quick succession –
The sky was clear and the suns golden glow lit up the whole airfield. As I hauled myself out of my billet, I could see my Spitfire glisten, glowing in the rich, golden sunlight.
Now she looked as good as new, not a bullet hole to be seen as she sat silently in the sun, awaiting the time that she would be needed again.
"Sun, suns, sunlight, golden, golden, glow, glowing." Similar words that could be edited to different ones in certain places. Your are almost describing the same things with the same words over and over and i think it isn't needed.
We have so many ways of describing the sun without having to say the word “sun” everytime. Now don’t get me wrong the story is really good, and this is something so very minor it’s basically irrelevant, but what i've picked up on could improve the writing of a really nice story.
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Jan/27/2006, 11:32 pm
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Spitfire Pilot
Flying Through
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Re: Mark's Story - One of the few (18+) Contains some violence related content and sear words
quote:
Mattie wrote:
That's a great start to your story Mark.
I hope you won't mind me pointing this out to you, we always have an open policy on critiscism on this forum so, please don't be put off of writing more or think that you are being picked on as this isn't the case!
My first point,
I found it hard to believe that your CO would call you Mark. I think you'll find that, he'd call you by your rank and surname. I think you should try this as it would add a more believable effect to the whole story.
Lastly,
What is the name of that bloke in our class, who is the proof-reader?
I think he'd have something to say on the title or more specifically the end of the story rating "Sear words". tut tut! lol
Only jesting Mark.
It's a good read mate!
Thanks Mattie..............I wasn't so sure about that either (the first name basis) but I will reconsider it. No, I don't mind critisism. At 2 1/2 pages long, it is probably the longest I've ever written. As for the swear words, I haven't got that far yet but only a few more paragarphs. I will leave that for a couple of days so if anyone has any objections on the use of 'hardcore' swear words (eg. F's and S's and C's and you name it) then please say so because otherwise there will be plenty when I get to the dogfights. Thank you. Mark.
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Feb/1/2006, 4:22 pm
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Spitfire Pilot
Flying Through
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Re: Mark's Story - One of the few (18+) Contains some violence related content and sear words
quote:
Kev2012 wrote:
I enjoyed your story as a whole, couldn’t really pick up on the things mattie could because I have no frame of reference in the field you are talking about, but what he wrote makes perfect sense. The story was really enjoyable, your start built up a nice imagery of the situation and reality of "war", sometimes you repeated descriptive words in quick succession –
The sky was clear and the suns golden glow lit up the whole airfield. As I hauled myself out of my billet, I could see my Spitfire glisten, glowing in the rich, golden sunlight.
Now she looked as good as new, not a bullet hole to be seen as she sat silently in the sun, awaiting the time that she would be needed again.
"Sun, suns, sunlight, golden, golden, glow, glowing." Similar words that could be edited to different ones in certain places. Your are almost describing the same things with the same words over and over and i think it isn't needed.
We have so many ways of describing the sun without having to say the word “sun” everytime. Now don’t get me wrong the story is really good, and this is something so very minor it’s basically irrelevant, but what i've picked up on could improve the writing of a really nice story.
I don't do an awful lot of writing so I'm not as good at it as I am at drawing for example (I'm not bragging). I must have changed the beginning ten times before it took on that form and it still isn't as good as I would like it to be.
If anyone has any suggestions for improvements I could make to make this more interesting please do feel free to let me know. As Mattie will tell you, I'm sure, I don't bite too hard. Just a bit of blood. ONLY JOKING.
PS. Mattie, I can't remember what that guys name is  Mark   
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Feb/1/2006, 4:29 pm
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Spitfire Pilot
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…Mark's story
Here is the next part of my story starting with the last paragraph in the last post (warning - this is where the swearing begins)
I went back on Monday morning to find that two more pilots had been shot down. Fortunately, both of them had bailed out and were taken prisoner by SS troops in France. That is always something at the back of our minds. We don’t necessarily mind dying for our king and country, most of us have come to accept death. It is being taken prisoner or being burned that really scares us.
I had barely been back ½ hour before the call to scramble came and the whole airfield seemed to transform from a quiet, peaceful atmosphere to unorganised chaos as pilots and ground crew scrambled to the waiting spitfires.
The thought of my younger brother, who was only 19, was still playing heavily on my mind. This dogfight would be different. This time I wasn’t just doing my duty. I wasn’t just shooting down German aircraft. This time I wanted revenge. I wanted to kill as many Germans as I could. Mow them all down like dogs. They were going to pay for what they had done to my brother so without hesitating I grabbed my flight kit and ran for my aircraft.
My ground crew barely escaped with their lives as I impatiently started up my spitfire’s mighty merlin engine and within 30 seconds I was airborne and free from the bounds of earth.
“This is red leader” I said, over the radio, “red and blue sections are to engage fighters with green and yellow sections dropping in on the bombers”.
“Red leader, this is Duxford Control, you are to fly heading 135° and ascend to flight level 1,550 feet. You will engage approximately 150 enemy aircraft. Six other squadrons are on route, over”.
“Roger Duxford control, ascending to flight level 1,550 on heading 135”.
There was a short pause.
“Red leader. Blue section has visual of enemy bombers”.
“Green one, take command of bomber attack sections. Red and blue sections keep an eye out for fighters”.
It wasn’t long before green and yellow sections engaged the bombers and the fighters swooped out of the sky to attack them. I saw a Messerschmitt BF109 in my sights. “Now I’ve got you, you son of a b*tch” and I let out a quick burst of .303 inch machine gun fire straight at him. The Messerschmitt started to trail thick, black smoke but I wasn’t going to let him get off that easily so I opened fire again.
This time there was a series of small explosions coming from his exhaust and the aircraft started to roll over before the pilot bailed out and opened his parachute. Out of pure hatred, I turned my spitfire around and set his defenceless body in my sights. “Now I’ve got you, you f*cking son of a b*tch”, I screamed. I waited until I could see the shear terror in his eyes and the tears streaming down his cheeks before I opened fire and ripped him to shreds. “That’s for my brother”, I shouted.
By this time, there were two BF109’s on my tail who had seen what I had just done to their friend and were intent on doing the same to me. I managed to out-manoeuvre the one, and while the other was still firing at me, I shot him down too.
Blinded by rage and devoted to revenge, I quickly managed to out-manoeuvre the last one before unleashing the power of my guns upon him. I watched as his damaged aircraft spiralled down towards the English Channel in flames. The pilot tried to bail out but one of the rounds from my spitfire’s guns had hit the canopy and bent it out of shape meaning that he couldn’t open it. He hit the water at 350 mph and his aircraft broke up, instantly killing him. “That’s for me”.
I didn’t get a chance to shoot down any more because my engine started making funny, spluttering noises and trailing black smoke.
“****!”, I called, over the radio, “my engine is almost out. That’s all I f*cking well need isn’t it”. My aircraft started to loose power but we were fairly close to the coast and I managed to crash land in a farmers hay field.
Knowing that the spitfire could explode at any moment, I jumped out and ran as far as I could. The farmer had seen and heard me land and had come out with his pitchfork to investigate. “Right you”, he shouted, “Hold it right there”. He looked me up and down “Oh, I see you are one of ours. Are you alright young man?”
“I hurt my arm in the crash but I think I will make it Sir”, I replied. “You’ll want to stay away from that plane though until the RAF gets here to recover it. She still has plenty of fuel in her tanks which might go up at any moment, so don’t get too inquisitive”.
“Right”, replied the farmer, “I’ll bear that in mind. Come on in and have a cup of tea with us, the raids over now. You boys sure gave them what they deserved up there. We’re proud of you son”.
“You wouldn’t be if you knew what I’d just done”, I thought to myself.
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Feb/2/2006, 5:00 pm
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