Operation Falkland CLOSED AND FINISHED

[The Tiger Kingdom]

October 5th, 1939
Somewhere in the South Atlantic
3:37 PM, local time

Ah, another beautiful day in the South Seas, Able Seaman Frederick Freeman thought to himself. The sky was a bright, cloudless blue, the sea wasn't pitching too bad, and everything was shipshape. His ship, the merchant vessel HMS Newton Beech, was making a run from Plymouth to Cape Town carrying various sundries and goods on the way there and carrying food supplies on the way back, and so far, everything had gone swimmingly. He'd heard the UK and France were at war with Germany now, and that they might be at risk for attack, by submarines especially, but they'd had no trouble so far. Hopefully, this whole war will blow over soon...

As he leaned back on the railing of the ship, enjoying a moment's rest from his duties, he lit up a cigarette, and looked out over the ocean. He could hear nothing but the pounding of the waves, the engines, and the blowing wind...
Suddenly, his ears pricked up. There was another noise mixed in there, now...the sound of an engine. He waited a minute or two, and the sound grew louder, and louder...and in the far distance, in the direction of the noise, Freeman could see a small black dot in the sky. As it grew, he identified it as an aircraft - a floatplane, if he wasn't mistaken, judging from the giant pontoon on the bottom. The engine noise growing to a roar, it flew directly overhead. It was of an unfamiliar shape, and it was colored a strange, dark green. Freeman turned to follow it. It slowly did a full circle over the ship, and then headed off, back in the direction Freeman was facing.

Well, that's odd... Freeman thought. Never seen that happen before... His eyes followed the plane, as it went back out to sea. As he followed it, he realized it seemed to be descending, towards the water. What, what the hell was...

Suddenly, the penny dropped. Freeman's cigarette fell out of his mouth, has face frozen in fear and shock.

Where only a minute ago, there had been nothing but ocean, now, no more than a few hundred yards off, was a massive, grey German battleship. He could just pick out the name emblazoned on it, just below the swastika: GRAF SPEE. Freeman also noted, with a kind of mechanical morbidity, that the six giant cannons in the three turrets on the battleship were all trained on the Newton Beech, as were what looked like a set of torpedo launchers. One salvo, and the entire ship would simply be blown away. The floatplane swooped around it, and landed on the opposite side. Now, the battleship seemed to be launching a small boat, filled with armed men, on a course towards their helpless freighter.

Now, the ship's intercom crackled: "Attention, crew. Prepare to be boarded. Do not attempt any kind of resistance. Stand by for further orders. Out."
Freeman now noticed that the men in the boat now approaching the vessel were fairly heavily armed...

One Hour Later

About he Graf Spee, Captain Hans Langsdorff gazed out on his new acquisition. It would be the third ship they'd captured since the war began a month ago, and it would be by no means the last. He was sure of that.
A lieutenant approached him and saluted. "Sir, we've brought onboard the last of the ship's crew and useful materials. We are fully ready to depart."
Langsdorff returned the salute. "Well done, Lieutenant. Have the away team scuttle the freighter - no point wasting a torpedo on it. And have them do it fast - we've got to meet the Altmark before nightfall."
"Aye aye, sir."

Langsdorff looked out again at the freighter, now about to enter the briny deep for the final time. How much longer can we get away with this unopposed? he wondered. At least we didn't have to call in the Europa yet. That would have been messy.
As he watched, a small explosion was heard from the depths of the ship. It quickly began to tilt, then roll over, and finally, it sank, all in the span of a few minutes.
Langsdorff turned away, smiling. No, we don't work like the British, in massive flotillas, he thought. We strike alone. Out of sight. A single, powerful, well-armed, well-supplied, highly motivated ship. If the British fleet caught us, we would be shot to pieces... but they'll never, ever catch us. Damn Goering for making us take that blasted wreck with us, it'll just slow us down.
Langsdorff turned. "Helmsman, full speed towards the rendezvous point. We've got to offload these prisoners, and fast. We've got a lot of work ahead of us, and we can't afford to slow down."

The Graf Spee began turning, back into the endless vastness of the Atlantic...

[The Tiger Kingdom]

November 10th, 1939
RAF Manston Heath
0926 Hours

It was a damn cold day at Manston Heath Airfield. Not a good day to be standing out on the airfield, waiting for a plane to arrive, but Captain Robert Page had very little choice in the matter. It had been a month since they'd arrived back at Manston, fresh from Operation Lancer. They'd successfully trashed a German prisoner-of-war camp, freed the prisoners, saved a high-ranking Polish General, and managed to steal what had turned out to be a brand new ME-109E-3 fighter aircraft, right under the noses of the German Army. When he first opened the file for the mission, it seemed utterly suicidal, but he'd been proven wrong. The skill of his men - Excalibur Squadron - had pulled the operation through. They'd need that skill again. They could be deployed anywhere in the world, for any sort of dangerous job, on the air or on the ground...

In the month since General Sikorski was rescued, they'd finally gotten their precious Spitfires. Enough had been scrounged from the Castle Bromwich delivery numbers, or diverted from inland squadrons that didn't really need them, to outfit 12 planes with the commensurate numbers of spare parts. Many of the squadron had already personalized them. They had been practicing relentlessly - mock dogfights, fighter/bomber interceptions, strafing runs, low-level bombing...the list went on and on. Emphasizing the squadron's versatility, Page had insisted they could be fighter-bombers in addition to being pure dogfighters. He had even worked with the mechanics to perfect a bombing rig to fit underneath the Spitfires - now, instead of carrying only a pair of 250 lb. bombs, they could carry a pair of 500 lb. bombs - enough to blow apart an armored column, or badly damage a bridge. Page had also insisted - "just in case" - that they practice a crude version of aircraft carrier takeoffs and landings. On a painted strip roughly approximating the standard lengths of a British aircraft carrier, they trained for quite some time, and gained a great deal of proficiency - although, they'd never actually tried it out for real.

The squadron wasn't entirely the same as it was when they left for Poland back in September - four pilots, an Englishman, an American, and a pair of Frenchmen, had departed the squadron, transferring to other wings. They had only had three replacements, however - a pair of Americans, and a German-Dutch immigrant (who had had his background especially double-checked). Page had inquired, but it seemed that those were all the suitable candidates at the moment. So now, they would go into battle with 11 men, rather than 12. One plane would stand unoccupied in the next mission.

And now that the plane carrying the Air Marshal was landing, the suspense over the mission was finally about to be broken, and they'd see if all the training had been worth it, and if the new members of the squadron would prove their skill. The ungainly Bristol Bombay slammed down on the tarmac, and taxied to a stop. Page jogged quickly over to it, and readied his salute as the passenger door opened, and the engines whirred down. He was quite surprised when a woman in a WAAF uniform, with the markings of a Company Commander stepped out and returned the salute. As she approached, Page realized she looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn't exactly place where he'd seen her before. This was especially strange, as the woman was...well... extraordinarily beautiful. It was actively difficult for Page not to stare. She was slim, had long brown hair tied back in a ponytail, and light brown eyes. Page also noticed (out of the corner of his eye) that she was carrying a folder not unlike the Lancer one.

"Good morning, ma'am. Captain Page, at your service. I was told to expect the Air Marshal, is he here with you?"
"Unfortunately, no. Marshal Newall had to be called into a high-priority meeting - another one of the First Sea Lord's schemes. Something about mining German ports and rivers**. He sends his apologies. He also sends-" she hefted the folder, "-another operation for you, in addition to some other materials - commendations for various squadron members and such."
She handed him the folder, marked, familiarly, "OPERATION FALKLAND - TOP SECURITY - FOR APPROVED EYES ONLY".
Page took it. "Thank you, Company Commander...?"
She smiled. "Sorry about that. Company Commander Alix Noble, Women's Auxiliary Air Force. I'm the Air Marshal's personal attache and assistant - his lieutenant, you could say." She extended her hand, and Page shook it.
Suddenly, Page snapped his fingers. "Right! That's where I've seen you before - in Newall's office - and on the day of the debriefing."
"That's right. Seems we'll be seeing a lot of each other if this war keeps up."
Page grinned. "At least there's one upside then. Were you involved in assembling these operations?"
"Among other people, yes. I have fully read the operation notes, Captain - and all I'll say in out here is that you've got your work cut out for you. I almost felt guilty being a part of the planning of the last operation - I felt you all were being sent to your deaths. Now, I'm slightly less worried. Slightly."
Page did his best to look dramatically cocky and unafraid. "No need to be worried, Commander. We'll get this operation done, and look good doing it."
She laughed. "I hope so, Captain. Good hunting out there. And do try to stay alive - it would reflect very badly on me if you all got killed."
"I'll definitely keep that in mind, Commander Noble."

After reading through the folder all morning, memorizing the details, Page had instructed the squadron to meet in the primary hangar - where six of the squadron's Spitfires were kept at 1400 hours. They would be flying out for their destination very quickly - basically as soon as the briefing was done. Page impatiently waited for the squadron to arrive.

* (roughly equivalent to a Flight Lieutenant)
**The operation Alix is referring to.

[Calizorinstan]

Pat had just a few hours before, returned from a few touch and go work with his Spitfire the "Fighting Dragon.", to familiarize himself more with the Spitfire, believing that if he had more practice, then when he flew in combat, would make him much better of a pilot. He would often go up with Monroe or James and practice dogfighting in the "Dragon", even when he had a free day, as to learn how to actually fight with the Spit. But, he did not neglect Emily either, in the free week that he had, before the next mission. He had gotten checked out in the Spitfire, handily before Excalibur Squadron got their spitfires. After he finished his touch and goes, he then received word that they were to meet in the primary hangar for a mission debriefing. He had given himself enough time to land, refuel the Spitfire and head on over to the primary hangar, where he found Captain Page with a folder. He saluted him and said "Lieutenant Arnold checkin in Captain. I see that I am the first here." He then wondered what this new mission would be about this time, and wondered if they would received the commendations that the Air Marshal had promised over a week ago. He relaxed visibly, thinking about his training flights in the Spitfire, and remembered his flight in the ME-109E-3, with something of a fond smile. He returned mentally to the present and awaited the arrival of the other squadron members.. "So, Captain, what sort of a crazy scheme are we looking at now? I can tell that it will be rather dangerous, even though I know nothing about it."

[Altito Asmoro]

Abdullah was a little too late to arrived, as he had just finished repaired his Spitfire "Garuda", which had troubles in its engine. After 3 hours, he finished it and went to the airfield. He searched for Captain's room, before arrived.

"Lieutenant Abdullah Harakish, reporting duty sir." He saw Pat had arrived too.

[Lancearc]

Monroe arrived soon after the first other two of his squadron members reported to Captain Page, though now he was outfitted in the entire flight suit and aviator's cap instead of just the flight suit's baggy bottom. He snapped a lazy salute in the direction of Captain Page as he fell in with the others, speaking with a cocky smirk. "So Cap'n, what's the fellas upstairs got for us to do to really piss of ol' Mr. Hitler, eh?" he asked, pulling off the cap that concealed his bright red hair. It appeared he spoke with total confidence, and this was true, the young pilot was hardly worried. They'd managed to sneak behind enemy lines, completely cut off ties to other facilities in the area within the prison, launch a quick attack and secure the general against overwhelming numbers of Germans, and high tail it back through Europe--getting out all in one piece. If that wasn't reassurance, he didn't know what was.

"Been workin' a bit on my Spit, in recent news though." Monroe said, and indeed he had. It still possessed his 'Beat the Blitz' design, but now it also incorporated a snake-like 'face' on the front of the plane, just ahead of the previous design. The aircraft now had two slit, yellow reptilian eyes on each side, coupled with a mouth in which two gaping fangs were visibile, inspiration credited to the Flying Tigers, and the tail possessed a scaly texture and ended in a rattle, as was his callsing, 'Rattler'.

"Don't think they could throw us int'a anythin' more suicidal thank Lancer, oi Pat?" he finished, glancing over at the American.

[Tiltjuice]

Tom had gotten up unusually early - for a day that didn't involve a mission - and gone to the hangar to visit his brand-new Spitfire. Securing a couple cans of paint, he'd spent the hours from 5 to 8:30 redecorating the paint scheme. Afterward, he'd taken a lap around it to study his handiwork. The wings were now edged in black trim. Under each wing there was a single black feather inside a gold circle. Finally, rounding out the new paint job under the fuselage was a golden Sword of Damocles, dripping blood, with black wings upswept and pointing toward the tail.

He'd cleaned himself up, changed into a flight suit, and gotten breakfast on the run so that he could make it to the briefing on time. Reporting in to Captain Page, he'd gotten the squadron CO's acknowledgement before greeting Monroe, Abdullah, and Pat, who had arrived there before him. Sitting down, he waited for the others to get in so he could find out where they were all headed next.

[Cosgravia]

A bedraggled, unshaven, stressed looking James burst in. His squadron mates were shocked at the state he was in.
"Luitenant James MacArvon reporting for duty. Sorry aboot the appearance, Captain, but it's been a rough month. Just found out that I'm gonnae be a da'. Lucy's pregnant." Jame collapsed into a chair in between Pat and Tom, and waited to be briefed.

[Shadyrya]

'Tex' strode up, with something in his walk telling people, "Don't mess with him." A combat knife resided on his chest, with only a half-sheath; Tex like that he was able to slide it right out. A small, leather pouch attached to the shirt of the man carried a whetstone for the perfectly maintained knife above; a revolver took its place at the man's side. Stubble lined his jaw; he hadn't shaved in a while. A cowboy hat lay on his head, hiding his face; however, if it was visible, one would see the scar on his cheekbone that looked relatively new. As he leaned against the wall, he said in a deep, dismissing tone of voice, "Reporting for duty, sir."

[Len Hyet]

Silva entered the room, the grizzled Pilot nodding a perfunctory greeting to the rest of the squad, and saluting the Captain.

"Cap'n. Reportin' for duty sir." He sat and waited to be briefed, eager to find out about the mission.

[The Tiger Kingdom]

"Wow!" Page slapped James on the back. "Congratulations, my friend. I guarantee you we'll light up some cigars and celebrate as soon as we get to where we're going."

At this, Page hauled in a stand with several shrouded pictures on it, and set it up facing the squadron. Behind him was his brand new Spitfire Mark II, which was in a standard camo-green, except for the tigers painted on the side, pouncing towards the engine. On the wings, directly behind where the guns were, were Excalibur swords, pointing out and forward. Page thought it looked quite fearsome.

"Well boys, listen up. It appeared we did too good a job, and for that sin, we were given another one. But first, we've got a few matters of housekeeping to attend to.

"First, welcome to our new members: 2nd Lieutenant Benjamin Silva, 2nd Lieutenant Jack Fisher, and Flying Officer Yosef Levine. Be sure to give them a warm welcome, although I understand that there was already a bit of a heated situation down at the Red Lion. Let's try to move past that.

"Second: I've received word from the RAF intelligence boys. Over the last month, they've dissected and reassembled that ME-109 we brought in about a dozen times over, and have flown it pretty comprehensively against everything we can throw at it: Gladiators, Defiants, Hurricanes, Fulmars, and Spitfires. As such, they feel confident in handing it over to us, for our own surreptitious use."
Page smiled. "Any dastardly suggestions for its potential uses are welcome."

"Third: apparently, some of you did well enough in our last operation that Command saw fit to send us down some appropriate commendations for those men. Forgive me for paraphrasing these a bit, we're sort of hard up on time."

Page pulled out a sheet, and some small boxes out of his jacket.

"Number 1. For extraordinary gallantry in stealing an aircraft under the nose of the enemy and using it to protect the rest of the squadron while they were basically helpless in a slow-moving transport, the RAF presents the Distinguished Flying Cross to 2nd Lt. Pat Arnold. Congrats, Sword Eight.

"Number 2: For extraordinary gallantry throughout the events of Operation Lancer, in securing ground and air transportation for the squadron at an extraordinary high risk to himself, and, through his excellent flying of a captured enemy aircraft, guaranteed the squadron's safe return, the RAF presents the Distinguished Flying Cross to Lieutenant James McArvon. Congrats man, you saved our asses in that 52."

Page sighed. "And there's something in there for me, for leading the damn thing, but that's not too necessary to talk about. Well done, both of you."

Page turned to the stand, his hand poised over the shroud.
"Now, we get onto the meat of the matter - our new mission. Operation Falkland. Everything from this point on is confidential. Keep that in mind."
Page then dramatically whipped off the shroud, revealing the picture beneath.


"This is our target: the German 'pocket battleship', the Admiral Graf Spee. Some background: Hitler, in addition to focusing on building himself a submarine fleet, has also built a small number of extremely modern, well-equipped, fast, and powerful surface vessels. Before the war began, two to three of these ships, all of the same class - the Deutschland, the Admiral Scheer, and the Spee, have broken out into the open ocean. We haven't seen or heard anything from the Deutschland, and only a little from the Scheer. The Spee , however, has made a name for itself. Over the past few months it has sunk 50,000 tons of Allied shipping, across the South Atlantic. It operates entirely alone - no backup, nothing to slow it down. It could be anywhere in the world, right now."

"Its captain is unknown, but he appears to be quite the man of honor - his first sinking, he actually sent a distress call to us himself, to make sure the ship's crew was saved, and so far, we haven't heard of a single British sailor even getting hurt by his actions. Nevertheless, he does take them prisoner and sink the ships. His battleship makes 32 knots, and has six 12-inch guns- meaning that with a tiny handful of exceptions, it can outrun everything it can't outshoot, and vice-versa. This is a scary, scary boat."


"This is a rough map of the ship locations that the Spee has sunk. Most of them are in the South Atlantic, but the ship is fast enough that by this time, it could be in the Pacific or Indian Oceans, waiting to strike there. The Royal Navy and the French Marin are working together on this, and are sending hunting groups of aircraft carriers, battleships, and cruisers around the world, to every ocean, trying to hunt this thing down. None of them have so far reported any success.

"According to our dossier, the aircraft carrier HMS Glorious is being relocated from the Indian Ocean hunting group, to be joining the the South Atlantic group. The latter is regarded as the most likely group to come into contact with the Spee, assuming it stays where it has been. It's currently composed of the light cruisers Ajax and Achilles, and the heavy cruiser Exeter. Glorious will be stopping at Portsmouth to resupply on the way over, and we'll be joining their combat air group while they're there. Command has run tests, and has concluded that our Spitfires - even with 500 lb. bombs attached, can successfully take off from the carrier's deck, and land as well, assuming certain precautions are taken beforehand. We'll get into those later.

"Essentially, Command has decided that they want the best pilots available to hit the Spee, should it appear. Glorious' air group is inexperienced and under-equipped, so far - and most of their planes are ancient. But that isn't the real, full reason they've chosen us."
Page's face darkened.
"It seems, in the last distress call from one of the ships under attack by the Spee, they reported also being under attack by German aircraft. Not just floatplanes like the ones that battleship would normally carry, but Stukas, and maybe even 109s. This shouldn't be possible, as there aren't any German airbases in range. However, Command thinks they need high-quality fighters hunting the Spee now too, in case of enemy air attack. The fact that we can carry some pretty heavy bombs as well also helped.

"So that's our mission, then. We'll relocate to the carrier, and help them hunt the Spee down, at all costs. Whether that's through bombing the crap out of it, or covering the task force and the Glorious' own torpedo-bombers from these mystery enemy air attacks - we don't know yet. We'll be flying down to Portsmouth in our Spits, today - that carrier needs to depart fairly quickly to catch the rest of the hunting group. then, they'll be loaded on with a crane, saving us some time and stress.


The Glorious itself.

Page looked out to the rest of the squadron, arrayed in the hangar.

"I don't think I need to tell you how important this job is. That ship could stay out there and prey on us forever, at the rate it's going. The safety of our Navy and our Merchant Marine depend on the successful outcome of this mission. Are there any questions before we set off?"

[Calizorinstan]

Pat frowned "Cap, where are the vital spots on the Spee that we will need to hit? It seems like they have some pretty scary anti aircraft weaponry on the ship. If we knew ere the weak spots are, then we can try and target it. What is the plan to attack the Spee? We have to have a good idea of where it is going to be first."

He paused "For future missions, I could fly the 109 as a distraction to he enemy, and try to blend in with them, as I have a good feel for it." Pat smiled, thinking of the Dragon's eyes as teeth he had painted on the sides of his Spit, where the Flying Tigers had their tiger mouths and eyes, with a nose art of a pretty brunette with a flame thrower. Pat thought that this mission was even moe suicidal than the last mission, buried they made it through the last one, he reckoned they would make it through. He was pretty surprised to have received the DFC, especially on his first mission with Excalibur. He wondered how many medals the squadron would accumulate before the war was over.

[Cosgravia]

"Hmm... a chance to blow the hell oot of a Kraut battleship? I'm up fir it! I'ts nae the Bismarck, but it'll dae. I've always wantit tae see the South Seas, but I was thinking more like the Australian part of the South Seas. Fiji, Samoa... Lovely. Ah reckon oor best bet would be to have some of oor boys flying around the ship, distracting their guns and dropping a few bombs, while the torpedo planes launch at her. And Pat, aim fir the rudder. If we hit that, she's deed in the water. Even if we didnae manage tae sink her, if we can damage the rudder some of oor ships can move in and finish her aff."
James swelled with pride when the Captain announced his commendation. He didn't think that he'd be awarded with anything. He made a mental note to have a copy of his medal painted onto his Spit, which already had a Lion Rampant on the tail and Lucy on the right hand side of the cockpit.
"Just one more thing, Captain. Why send us? A submarine could easily sink the Spee, surely?"

[Len Hyet]

Silva stood.

"If I may Cap'n. As an old pilot speaking, while those are some nasty AA guns, it's not impregnable. Come in from the left and rear, slight diversion dead ahead. Target the bridge and big guns."

[Tiltjuice]

Tom considered the information. There were a lot of places the mission could go wrong. Still, he agreed with James' observations that the ship could be stopped by hitting its rudder, or knocking out its engines or something. Not really having any questions, he watched the others discussing how best to attack the Graf Spee. This one was going to take a lot of stunt flying, that was for sure, and given a choice he'd rather be flying CAP than be stuck in the fighter-bomber role. It'd give him a chance to stretch his barnstormer's wings after being dirtside during Lancer.

[The Tiger Kingdom]

Pat frowned "Cap, where are the vital spots on the Spee that we will need to hit? It seems like they have some pretty scary anti aircraft weaponry on the ship. If we knew ere the weak spots are, then we can try and target it. What is the plan to attack the Spee? We have to have a good idea of where it is going to be first."

"As Silva said, the bridge and guns are a good target. I would also recommend going for the fantail, as McArvon said, where the rudder and engines are - we hit those, it's dead in the water. As to where the Spee is, so far, almost all the captured ships have managed to get off at least a fragmentary distress call before they went silent - we'll be able to tell where it's been, at least, as well as where it's likely to go. If its within our range, we might actually be able to do some recon sweeps in our planes - see if we can find it."

"Just one more thing, Captain. Why send us? A submarine could easily sink the Spee, surely?"

Again, it's a factor of skill - and speed. Most of our subs are either in Scapa Flow right now, or at Malta, in case the Italians make a move. Not to mention our current fastest submarine can make about 16 knots on the surface - meaning the Spee can literally go twice as fast as it. It would be a rare, lucky, amazing thing if a sub actually managed to see it, much less line up a shot on it. Airplanes, on the other hand, can of course make more than 32 knots, easily, and do just as much damage with bombs and torpedoes."

[Cosgravia]

James walked over to the picture of the Admiral Graf Spee, and closely examined it. He then turned to Silva.
"That's nae gonnae help much. We cannae hit the big guns and the bridge, seeing as they're closely covered by AA guns. Hitting the rudder's oor best bet."
James turned to the Captain.
"Fair enough, sir."

[Calizorinstan]

Pat considered this "I will aim for the rudders if I am assigned to the group attacking the ship, and not providing CAP. This will be a first for me, I am used to ground attack rather than maritime. Sure I did boats in Brazil, but they were smaller and easier and most certainly not the Graff Spee." Then he chuckled and lanes over to James "If we make this mission, I am proposing to Emily, at least it will give me an incentive to get through this alive." Before turning serious "Basicially triangulating its location from the reports then, I take it. Rudders, engine, bridge and guns for targets, got it. No more questions for me, let's do this thing."

[Cosgravia]

"Aye. A bairn due in 8 months and a waddin' tae Lucy in 5 is incentive enough fir me. Your all invited, by the way, if we make it oot alive. If we fly regular recon runs over the Graf, we can lull them intae a false sense of security. We fly over, they think it's another recon run, then... BAM! We kick the bitch right in the ovaries!"

[Len Hyet]

Silva smiled dangerously.

"Oh I have no doubt that they are covered very nicely by the AA guns. But, how low can one of those bad guys go?"

His eyes shone as he walked to the image. Coming up to it, he gestured with his hands.

"Now, watch closely. If we come in directly from the rear, they have nine AA guns that can open up on us. Coming from the front, eight. Side, nine or ten on both sides. But, if we come in from the front low. And by low, I mean low. So low if you drop another inch you'd put landing gear down or crash and burn. Their AA guns can't hit that low, but we can fly that low. Pull up before the bridge and drop a five hundred on that sucker. Go as high as you can without stalling, then level off. No matter how you slice it gentlemen, this one is going to be rough. But a straight shot up the deck, especially with some birds attracting flak in the air, is our best bet. Coming from the rear there is too much time over the water, easily exposed. They can't shoot us down while we're over their deck for two reasons. One, their guns can't hit us. Two, even if they could, we'd crash into their ship. That would do a hell of a lot more damage than a five hundred.

[Lancearc]

"Cap'n, it isn't too far outta line to consider that maybe our Jerry friends 'r buildin' carriers of their own, oi?" Monroe spoke up, considering the information. "The Kriegsmsarine doesn't appreciate the usage of 'em like maybe the Japs, but maybe Mr. Hitle's gettin' in on 'em? Seems the only possible way that they could be hittin' us that far out, if ya ask me." he finished, considering how much it could change the mission if the Germans indeed had a carrier in the south seas.

[The Tiger Kingdom]

Silva smiled dangerously.

"Oh I have no doubt that they are covered very nicely by the AA guns. But, how low can one of those bad guys go?"

His eyes shone as he walked to the image. Coming up to it, he gestured with his hands.

"Now, watch closely. If we come in directly from the rear, they have nine AA guns that can open up on us. Coming from the front, eight. Side, nine or ten on both sides. But, if we come in from the front low. And by low, I mean low. So low if you drop another inch you'd put landing gear down or crash and burn. Their AA guns can't hit that low, but we can fly that low. Pull up before the bridge and drop a five hundred on that sucker. Go as high as you can without stalling, then level off. No matter how you slice it gentlemen, this one is going to be rough. But a straight shot up the deck, especially with some birds attracting flak in the air, is our best bet. Coming from the rear there is too much time over the water, easily exposed. They can't shoot us down while we're over their deck for two reasons. One, their guns can't hit us. Two, even if they could, we'd crash into their ship. That would do a hell of a lot more damage than a five hundred.

"That's good thinking, Lieutenant. That kind of strategy, coupled with the fact that 11 of us at least are going to be swarming around the thing, their fire will be split to hell and back."

"Cap'n, it isn't too far outta line to consider that maybe our Jerry friends 'r buildin' carriers of their own, oi?" Monroe spoke up, considering the information. "The Kriegsmsarine doesn't appreciate the usage of 'em like maybe the Japs, but maybe Mr. Hitle's gettin' in on 'em? Seems the only possible way that they could be hittin' us that far out, if ya ask me." he finished, considering how much it could change the mission if the Germans indeed had a carrier in the south seas.

"I really hope not, but it seems that may be the only possible explanation. Our intelligence boys really dropped the ball on this one, if a German carrier is out there on the seas. It may make the Spee easier to track though - that tub will probably slow it down."
Page glanced around. "If that's it for questions, let's get these chocks out and head for Portsmouth. The mechanics have topped up all our tanks, definitely enough to get us there. We'll land at Portsmouth, then our planes will be loaded onto the carrier via crane- save us a whole lot of time. And don't worry - your footlockers will follow us in a transport plane, along with some other gear. We may be on the Glorious for a while. Let's go!"

As the squadron broke for their planes, Page removed the chocks, climbed up into his Spit, pulled the hatch open, and got into the seat. The mechanics were already pulling the doors open for them. As they became fully open, Page slowly began taxiing onto the runway.

[Calizorinstan]

When the Captain had finished his talk, Pat sprinted to his Spitifire "Fighting Dragon"' thew bad the hatch, threw on his helmet and gloves and strapped himself in and started the Spitfire. The duh of adrenaline he craved came to life, when he heard the Merlin turning over and he released the brake to taxi behind the Captain. After the Captain took off, Pat slid forward te canopy and locked it, before starting his take off roll, and soon he was up in the air with the Captain, sliding to the left of the Captain's wing in formation.

[Altito Asmoro]

As soon as Captain Page finished, Abdullah ran to his beloved "Garuda" spitfire, jumped in, wear his gloves and helmet, and started the engine, and the Spitfire was flew, and now its behind the other 2 Spitfires.

[Lancearc]

"Yeah, but it also means more AA ta deal with, and we'd probably 'ave ta end up sinkin' that bloody flat top." Monroe responded, before he too rushed to his plane and detached the chocks, hopping into the cockpit of his Spitfire and sliding into his helmet and flight gloves with a grin before tuning in to the squadron's radio frequency as he taxied out of the hangar just behind Pat's plane, not yet closing the cockpit. "Aight gents, looks like we're on our way to give ol' Jerry a right kick ta the pants and a poke in the eyes, aye? The wind is low, the sky is clear and I guarantee I'll make ace by the time this'n is all in the books!" he said, sliding shut the cockpit and securing it before moving his hand from his forehead and down to his chest and both shoulders in a blessing pattern.

"God protect us." he muttered, glancing towards the sky briefly before returning his attention to Pat's plane as it lifted into the sky. He followed soon after, sliding up next to Pat and glancing over at the American's cockpit with a grin before returning to his radio. "Oi Pat, ya best be ready for our lil' wager, 'cause I'm downin' Jerry left 'n right this time!" he said, before slowing and positioning himself off Pat's tail, a bit to the left.

[The Tiger Kingdom]

"Let's hope we don't even have to contend with the Luftwaffe this time around, boys. But mark my words - if they do show up, I'll be the one with the most kills at the end of the day. Count on that."
Page smiled beneath his oxygen mask. Truth be told, he was rather hoping there would be some enemies for him to fly rings around...would be a little more fair. And, it would look better in the report, and he knew who would be reading the report... maybe she'd even notice.
The squadron was now flying in an arrowhead formation, with another transport aircraft in the rear of the formation, carrying their personal effects and equipment. After some fairly uneventful flying, they arrived at Portsmouth, where they landed at one of the airfields located at the water's edge. There, moored, was the massive bulk of the battlecruiser-turned-carrier, Glorious. A huge crane towered over, ready to deposit the Spitfires on the deck, where they would be taxied to the elevators, eventually being deposited in the hanger beneath.
The squadron climbed out, and began gathering their trunks and equipment, to carry onto their new home for the next few weeks.