Free Blackbirds by Garry Ryan

and swastikas marking their tails. Exhaust trails left their dark pathways in the sky.
    â€œHeinkels!” Sharon pushed the nose forward.
    The engine coughed.
    Sharon held her breath.
    She aimed for a narrow opening between the lead bomber and the next Heinkel in formation.
    The engine roared as fuel reentered the cylinders.
    There were a series of images, each with its own momentary clarity. The face of a pilot. The head of a gunner. The green and grey of a camouflaged wing. A black cross outlined with white. The white tails of tracer bullets.
    She ducked low into her seat, expecting the shock of a collision.
    â€œWhoa!” She passed safely through the formation of bombers.
    Sharon glanced in the rear-view mirror above her head. She saw the Messerschmitt B f 110 burst out of the cloud. Its pilot opened fire.
    Tracer bullets reached out and passed over Sharon’s Spitfire.
    The 110 sliced the lead Heinkel in half. The bomber’s wings and nose flew on for a moment, carried forward by momentum and its propellers. Then the stricken wreck pulled itself into a vertical stall.
    The Messerschmitt, with one wing gone, promptly flipped onto its back and fell into another cloud.
    Sharon dove through a cloud and found herself in a sky with two columns of smoke, some floating debris, and the blossom of a single parachute.
    She continued the dive, changing direction every few seconds while maintaining a general heading toward Biggin Hill.
    Fifteen minutes later, after a careful inspection of the sky, she landed and taxied over to the hangars. She switched off and was enveloped in the sudden silence.
    Someone knocked on the Perspex. She saw the face of a mechanic on the other side and slid the canopy open.
    â€œMust be hot up there — you’re dripping.” He helped her with the harness and oxygen mask.
    Sharon took off her flying helmet and felt her hair. He’s right; I’m soaked with sweat .
    â€œBest be off and get yourself a cuppa,” he said.
    She stepped from the wing onto the ground.
    She looked around her. A pair of mechanics worked on the engine of a Spitfire in the shade of the hangar.
    Outside, a petrol bowser fueled another fighter.
    There was the sound of an approaching aircraft. Sharon shaded her eyes to watch a Spitfire on finals and saw the pilot guide his aircraft to a slick landing. “It’s like the battle never happened.”
    â€œWhat’s that?” the mechanic asked.
    â€œOh, nothing.” Sharon walked away in search of a cup of coffee.
    She found one in a nearby tent and sat down outside in a chair. The sun caressed her face. She looked around to see if her father was nearby. She couldn’t make up her mind if she wanted to see him or not. Their last meeting had not ended well, and it wouldn’t be wise to tell him about her latest adventure.
    A pilot walked toward the tent, and a group of men gathered around a table about ten feet away.
    The approaching pilot said, “You boys missed an unbelievable bit of flying!”
    The other pilots looked up expectantly.
    â€œA lone Spit just broke up a formation of Heinkels! He dove out of a cloud with a Messerschmitt 110 on his tail. The Spitfire flew right between the two lead bombers, and the Messerschmitt opened fire. The Jerry pilot in the 110 mustn’t have been paying attention, because he flew right into the lead Heinkel. The rest of the bombers ended up in a bloody shambles. I fell into the middle of them all and managed to pick off two.”
    â€œAny idea who the other pilot was?” one of the sergeant pilots asked.
    â€œHe landed just before me. Must be around here somewhere.” The pilot looked around. “Who just arrived?”
    The pilots all looked at Sharon.
    A pilot said, “That young girl over there, the one with the brown hair, she landed just before you did.”
    One of the pilots leaned forward in his chair. “Couldn’t have been her. The pilot must have