[World War II] Thousands of Miles in the Sky

Ko's tail, and looked to the right, and saw that the pilot of the plane to his right was also laughing, the only difference was that he was not laughing and pressing the radio button at the same time.

"I said, we are here to take over the Spades No. [-] Squadron and escort the Shiduka bombers," Foko said leisurely over the radio, "Naturally, eight teams shot down more than three teams today."

"No. 14, I didn't hear anything," Schroer finished his reply, and continued to read, "ground ground, the handsome team leader of the eighth team called the ground, shot down once at [-]:[-], the Spitfire, Did you get it!"

Foko shrugged, just adjusted his direction and continued to fly forward.Soon, a few black spots that were originally far away in the sky turned into a menacing fighter formation.Foco pressed the radio button:

"North Africa [-], the whole team is in place, call the handover personnel."

"Spades [-], handover is ready." The other party replied through the radio, then paused for a moment, and then said, "Mr. Ked?"

"I didn't expect to meet you here." Folk replied, "Mr. Rissel."

"It's a great honor." Stoner's calm voice came from the radio.

22

"I didn't expect you to come out with this kind of escort mission." Stoner said.

Foko looked at the group of fighter jets in front of him.The silver-gray fuselage and black nose are a bit more hostile than the North African wing, which mainly uses desert cover color paint.

"Aren't you here too?" Folk asked.

The leader of the silver-gray fleet suddenly flew away from the formation, and rushed straight towards Foco.

"How can I compare with the majesty of your number one ace?"

As Stoner said, he raised the nose of the aircraft and flew over Foco's fuselage. At the same time, he closed the damper on the spot and pulled the flaps to turn 180 degrees to the left. Coe's right, flying alongside him.

"You have clearly made the most of my special skills." Foco said lightly.

"I'm laughing at you," Stoner said indifferently, "I still dare not use such unconventional means in actual combat."

"I know you're not afraid," Folk said. "Every successful pilot has his own unique tactics, and you are no exception."

He turned his head and looked to the right. The middle part of Stonefel's fuselage was painted with the pattern of spades from playing cards, and the position near the tail was written with the Arabic numeral ten in gold.

"Your call sign is ten?" Foucault asked over the radio.

"Yellow Ten," Stonefield replied.He slightly lowered his flight speed, and Kugbauer, who was right behind him at the moment, immediately closed the damper and hovered in the air, pulling a certain distance from his tail. "and you?"

"Yellow No. 14," said Folk.He looked out through the cockpit glass and saw Stoner turned his head, seeming to be looking at the golden Arabic numeral fourteen on the tail of his fuselage.

"What a coincidence," Stoffer laughed over the radio.He brought back his flying speed, and his eyes followed Foko's fuselage until he reached the position of the cockpit, facing Foko's eyes.

"It's an honor." Folk said.

Stoner looked at him, and suddenly the corners of his mouth curled up into a smile.At this moment, the arrogance and unruliness in his eyebrows and eyes have been removed from the hard and cold shell, leaving only the chic and self-satisfied uniqueness of youth.

Foco looked back at him and smiled tacitly.

"Good luck then!" said Stoneover, waving to Foco.He then yawed and stalled, and the fuselage immediately began to rotate around one wing, slowly lowering the latitude, and separated from the group as abruptly as he came.

"Good trip back, Yellow Ten," Folk replied.

"Yellow Ten, call the ground command. Cover personnel are in place, request permission to retreat."

Stonever's voice continued on the radio.Without waiting for the commander of the 53rd Regiment to reply, he had already turned on his horsepower and flew far away in the direction of the camp.The silver-gray fleet hurriedly pursued behind his tail.

"Yellow NO.14 is calling the old man," Foco pressed the radio button and said, "The handover was successful..."

"Yellow Fourteen!" Neuberger's roar came from the radio, interrupting Foco's report angrily, "The code name of the ground command is not 'Old Man'!"

The midday sun shines on the fuselage, and even the air in the cabin is faintly hot.Foco's head is tightly wrapped with an Arab turban, and the only pair of eyes that are exposed are still hidden under the sunglasses.

"Shouldn't we go back about the time?"

"Report to the team leader," Kugbauer pressed the talk button on the radio, "you have a watch yourself."

"Ah," came Folk's moaning voice over the radio, "even you bullied me."

Immediately the radio was filled with involuntary laughter.

"I'm sorry, sir," said one of the pilots, breathlessly laughing.

"Okay, okay," Foco shrugged and said, "Fly back. You guys, pay attention to stabilize and keep the distance between the planes. You must have panicked in front of yellow ten just now, so he can recognize me The longest time His wingman; otherwise, it would be so coincidental that he would be in front of the only one of you who can hover in the air."

After speaking, he turned the nose of the plane and took the lead to fly to the camp in a leisurely manner.

Under the golden sunlight, a group of dark yellow fighter jets streaked across the sky over North Africa.The leading one suddenly shook its fuselage, and then a burst of thick smoke began to come out.

"What's going on?" Kugbauer said on the radio.

"I don't know," Foucault replied, "Probably an engine failure."

"Didn't you change the engine?" Kugbauer asked.

"Who knows," said Foucault, "it's the middle of the day when it's hot and hot. It's annoying."

Kugbauer shook his head and said, "Can we hold on? We haven't reached the friendly front yet."

"Can be able to," Foco said, "It's just a fog in front of me."

"It's still foggy," Kugbauer said angrily and funny, "Just tell me if there is smoke in the cabin. Can you see the dashboard?"

"It's still visible," Folk replied.

"I'll give you the azimuth data," Kugbauer said, "you fly while watching the instrument. Just don't tell me you failed the instrument navigation test back then."

"How is that possible?" Foco replied with a smile.

"What's going on?" Neuberger's voice came over the radio.

"Report to the ground command, the situation is unknown, the location is unknown, the failure is unknown, and the cause is unknown." Fuko said.

"Shut up," Nuberger snapped.

"Report Commander," Kugbauer said into the radio microphone. "Yellow No. 14 has an engine failure and is smoking. We are about 10 minutes away from the friendly line."

"Be careful." Nuberger said in a deep voice.

"Got it." Kugbauer said.

Foco reached out and pulled off the Arab turban on his face, frowning and waved away the white smoke gathered in front of his eyes.He pulled the joystick hard, but the nose did not follow.

"Engine failed," Folk said.

"Can the fuselage be controlled to slide?" Kugbauer asked.

"can."

"Hold on a little longer." Kugbauer said, staring at the pointer on the latitude table, "attention the whole team, follow the lead plane to lower the latitude, and keep flying in the same direction."

Folk didn't reply.He held the joystick with his right hand, rested his left on the sill of the cockpit window, and tapped the cabin wall with his fingers hurriedly.

"I saw the White Mosque," said Kugbauer's voice on the radio after a long time. "Below is Sidi Rahman. We are already within the German front line."

"It's time!" Foco immediately shouted, "I can't take it anymore, I'm almost suffocating."

"The whole team is separated from the lead plane," Kugbauer finished speaking, paused for a few seconds, and then said, "Yellow NO.14, you can prepare for skydiving."

Foco pulled the joystick, and in a blink of an eye, the fuselage was vertically inverted 180 degrees, with the belly facing up, and continued to slide in the air.Just as the hatch of the cockpit was opened, an Arabian headscarf floated out with the wind along with the billowing smoke from the cabin, revealing the bright pink silk scarf tied around Foco's collar, flying in the sound of the wind.

"Yellow NO.14!" Kugbauer yelled into the radio, "Your nose is not flat... Hayo!"

While the plane was diving rapidly with the nose down at 75 degrees, Foko had already jumped out of the cockpit, and then, following the turbulent airflow, his chest hit the upper end of the tail wing hard.

"Hayao!" Kugbauer quickly spun and dived, chasing down quickly.However, Foko fell faster and disappeared from his vision in a blink of an eye.

"What's going on?" Neuberger's voice asked urgently over the radio.

"Sir," Kugbauer replied hastily, "Hayo's parachute didn't open!"

"Hemut!" Neuberger's voice came faintly over the radio, "Get someone to drive, I'm going to Sidi Rahman, now!"

On September [-], [-], the Star of North Africa fell.

23

Hohash took off his gloves and strode into the reception room.Illerman, who was sitting on the sofa, got up quickly: "Mr. Lieutenant."

"It's still a lieutenant, just call your name." Hohash responded casually, stretched out his hand to straighten the collar of his uniform, folded the black leather gloves on the coffee table, walked to the sofa chair beside Illerman and sat down.His hair was slightly messed up by the wind, but he didn't care about it.

Illerman also sat down and pushed the saucer in the direction of Hohash.

"What's the matter?" Hohash didn't touch the teacup, but leaned forward with his forearm on his thigh, and looked at Yileman carefully, "What is it that makes you so lost?"

"Mr. Hohash," Illerman seemed to hesitate to speak.He sighed worriedly, then lowered his head, and said with great effort, "Hayo is dead."

"Hayo Foko? Star of North Africa?"