The Air Battle of Kildare

Moira squinted at the sun, the crescent of light bathing her pale face as she began to make out the wavy shapes approaching. No sooner did her mind realize what it was seeing, she saw the ground being chewed up before her. She had seen the effects of the formidable German 7.92 caliber machine guns in the past, but nothing prepared her for the absolute speed and thoroughness of the pulverization that two 20mm guns could do to the landscape. It seemed to her as if the Earth was sprouting mushroom clouds in miniature as the shells walked toward her. She turned away from the onslaught and cowered, her lower lip quivering as the ground exploded behind her. She was too petrified to run. An entire prayer ran through her head, but her only words were "Mary! Protect us!"

Oberfahnrich Dieter Bruner let his finger relax as his guns swept toward a helpless housewife. Her bright red hair was distinctive, and caused a brief moment of compassion for the fire-haired pale woman he saw in his sights. She was surely no threat to his mission; and in truth his little barrage had produced the intended effect: the workers were scrambling out of the factory from every entrance. Herr Holdt to his left flank did not share his views about needless killing; and tore into a mass of men with his own 20mm guns. Bruner shook his head, but paid it little mind as he pulled up suddenly, slinging all three bombs into the face of the building. He knew they had hit their marks, and was pulling up as fast as his nimble plane could. Other pilots preferred the later models with the heavier armor; or the amazing new Stukas the Stadt was producing, but for sheer climbing and banking he chose the Messerschmitt.

Moira was knocked backward as the three rocket assisted bombs slammed into the brick face of the old factory. Her ears rang as one after the other the high explosives detonated; pulverizing the facade completely. She stood up, a scream erupting from her lungs as the following bomber launched his own bombs deep within the factory itself. She saw the production line, the press, and the milling station all disappear in an iron inferno of smoke and fire.

Bruner looked down as the old brick factory was hit at least 15 times in a textbook case of how to take out a brick and mortar target; the southeast corner already collapsing. He turned his attention back to his instruments; his part of the mission complete. As the junior officer, he was now tasked with determining and harassing any incoming aircraft until the rest of the squadron was back in formation and ready to fight. Were this a normal mission, he would have escort aircraft, dedicated fighters, and even naval support once he was in range. His inexperience, as well as his new focus, didn't allow him the wisdom to question why the air raid sirens had sounded from the opposite direction of the base.

Moira didn't realize she was running until she was stumbling over the ejected rubble. "Peter!" she screamed, desperately looking for her husband. "Please, dear God, please oh Merciful Christ let him be alive.."she whispered to herself and her deity as she stepped over the mangled form of a man she could not identify. The screams inside the burning factory sounded as if they were specters from Hell itself. She looked to her left and to her right, and finally sank down to her knees; sobbing.

"Moira!" she heard from the hatch of the nearby bomb shelter. Peter, her husband, emerged with a Lee Enfield Mk X rifle. She ran like the wind toward him, tears streaming down her face. He dropped the rifle and caught her **** embrace. She kissed him as deeply and passionately as she could; a thousand promises to both herself and the Lord flooding her relieved mind.

"I thought I'd lost you..." she said, fresh tears in her eyes. She glanced over his shoulder to see more and more men emerge. The casualties, it seemed, were minimal. "How..." she asked, but her sentence was drowned out by the American P-62 Mustangs roaring overhead. Their chrome bodies were sleek and lethal; the front propeller folded down as its powerful and new jet engine rocketed the aircraft in "attack mode" toward the rear of the Luftwaffe squadron.

Bruner saw Frau Gellar's plane erupt in fire behind him. He banked hard to his right, putting the plane into a full roll that ended in a dive. "Was ist das!?" he asked himself; cursing his luck to be attached to such a frivolous mission. A streak of howling chrome roared over his cockpit as he saw the underbelly of the American plane. "FICK! FICK!" he screamed to himself. The sounds of the .50 caliber machine guns chewing into his fusilage filled his ears. He checked his gauges, and sighed in relief. Nothing important was damaged. Another fireball erupted above him. Herr Holdt had paid a heavy price for his slaughter.

Bruner began to wobble his aircraft as he descended. His plan was to either lure one of the planes in and ambush it or fake an emergency landing before going full throttle to the coastline. He looked at the Luger pistol and MP-52A submachine gun along with his survival backpack. His English was passable, but he knew nothing of Gaelic. He could not rely on blending in if he had to ditch the plane. "If I make it out of zis, I swear my next bombing run with be over Berlin itself..." he whispered. They were his last words.

The .50BMG rounds tore through the glass of his cockpit at incredible speed. His helmet did nothing to stop the enormous projectile from entering his skull, travel down his torso, turn, and emerge from his hip; killing him instantly. The Mustang that had been stalking him from above banked left; and switched back to propeller flight. Capt. Andy Howe clicked on his squawk box. "Tell command mission failed. We were too late. All enemy KIA." He said, tossing the microphone back to its base. Howe sighed. If the boys had just been a couple minutes earlier...

General LeMont stood with his plastic phone in his hand; his new secretary sucking his cock as she knealed before him. "I see, thank you. No, no; I strongly believe this was a tactical strike and not a precursor to full invasion. Yes, sir. The Mustangs performed admirably; and no survivors will be reporting to the German High Command. Yes, sir; that is five missions with hundred percent kill ratios for the new planes, sir; though I am only marginally familiar with Air **** affairs. Yes, sir; Admiral LaCosta would be the man to speak to. Thank you, Sir; and Good day."

He casually stepped away from his secretary and tucked his cock back in his pants, a trail of spit temporarily stretching before breaking and falling to her exposed bosom. "Get back to the phone. I suspect a few people are going to have some questions about why I personally phoned a factory in Ireland and rubbed elbows with the R&D Division for an asset with zero strategic value." She scampered up, her very long high heels forcing her to wiggle her ass as she returned to her desk to fix her lipstick.

LeMont pulled out a bottle of bourbon and poured himself two fingers worth. If he played this right he'd get OSS access to the Air **** R&D Division. They were going to need all the help they could get if they ever planned to infiltrate or target the Air Ships of the Stadtis...