"This is Ground Control to Schwarz Leader. We lost your audio signal. What is your status, over?"
+


                          
Ludwig cut into the Mustang's tail, breathed, focused, and fired three bursts straight ahead. The Magician dodged upwards easily. Ludwig swore loudly into the channel. "We have been engaged by four enemy Mustangs and are moving to defend. They appear to be forming into an echelon formation and... hold, Ground Control, there seems to be..." Ludwig's eyes widened. In the skies before him two new enemy Mustangs flew into sight. Ludwig checked his mirror to see two more coming up from behind. And suddenly they were surrounded. Ludwig's pulse hammered quickly but steadily in his ears. Sweat rose to his palms. Eight enemy aircraft encircled them. Ludwig's throat went dry and he tried to swallow. There were too many. "Ground Control, we are surrounded. We are preparing to evade." He changed the channel, his hand steady. "Schwarz Leader to Schwarz squadron, stay high, prepare for escape, we are..." Damn it, the Americans were everywhere. "Schwarz Three, Mustang on your tail." There was no response, and no move from the pilot to evade. Frustrated anger and panic rose in Ludwig's chest. "Damn it, Schwarz Three, dive! Hard Dive!"
+


                          
"I'm hit!"
+


                          
"Bail out," Ludwig shouted frantically. "Schwarz Three, bail out now!" It was too late. The Messerschmitt burst into an inferno, pieces bursting asunder and falling in trails of black and white and fiery smoke. Ludwig stared blankly, his brain screaming at him to do something, to give an order that could salvage this hopeless situation. He had lost a man. He would not lose another. He tried to keep an eye on the enemy Mustangs even as he dealt with their unshakeable leader spiralling impossibly around him. Behind him Ludwig could see the aircraft forming into a multiple echelon formation. A low squadron flew in from the east, a high squadron coming down from the south. His body thrummed with controlled tension. There was nothing else he could do. They could not win this fight. He gave the order, his breathing steady, his head clear.
+


                          
"This is Schwarz Leader. Immediately execute a swift hard dive descent and split into a level flight, heading vector two-five-seven, head for home. Try to outrun them. This fight is impossible." The two planes dropped away from his sight as they executed his order. A moment later the voice of his wingman cut through the speakers.
+


                          
"Schwarz Leader, you did not execute the manoeuvre."
+


                          
Ludwig responded evenly. "Follow my instructions and head vector two-five-seven."
+


                          
"But Sir..."
+


                          
"That is a direct order. Over and out."
+


                          
"Lieutenant!"
+


                          
Ludwig cut off the channel, forced himself into full concentration, and took a deep gasping breath. He stared at the control, at the floor, at the precious red flower. Then he caught the American leader, their so called Magician, in his sights. He checked his mirror to see his men flying into the distance, having successfully outmanoeuvred the slower Mustangs, and he moved into position to ensure complete and uninterrupted focus on his own plane. Eight American aircraft now surrounded him. But the Magician was Ludwig's only target. "Come on, Magician," he whispered, excitement, anticipation and steady focus thrumming through his head. "Dazzle me."
+


                          
It did not take long for Ludwig to lose himself once again in the swirling controlled chaos of an aerial dogfight. He let his mind go still and Greta become an extension of himself. Let her take over, let his instincts take control, until it seemed that Greta was turning and spinning and attacking on her own. The first enemy aircraft fell almost before Ludwig realised he was firing. But even as the Mustang fell in a shower of sparks, another replaced it. And that damn Magician was still gaining on Ludwig's tail, and refused to budge. Another plane closed in above him and Ludwig pulled into a roll to throw him off. And once again, the Magician disappeared, to be replaced by yet another Mustang. This group was well organised, controlled, yet unpredictable. And somewhere in the back of Ludwig's mind he had the strangest feeling that they were either playing with him, or unthinkably, giving him some sort of chance. "Damn Americans," Ludwig growled to himself as he tried to keep the flight of Mustangs before him and in his sights.
+


                          
Ludwig pulled level, caught a Mustang in his sights, and fired directly. The enemy plane flipped backwards and went down in a trail of black smoke. Turning immediately, Ludwig threw another plane from his tail as he scanned the skies for his target. Then the smoke cleared and he had him. Ludwig's heart beat faster as he fought to gain a sight on the American leader. The Magician. The 'Lady Beth'. Ludwig had him fixed. His hand clenched on the control. He braced himself and smiled grimly as he prepared to fire.
+


                          
And then his sight was cut off when the Magician's wingman dropped suddenly before him, the red maple leaf adorning his Mustang instantly recognisable. The wingman performed an unexpected weave and got a straight shot off on Ludwig's plane. Ludwig pulled into a snap roll to evade but it was too late. The shot tore through his engine and his plane shuddered as it pulled down. Ludwig had to fight with the control to get the aircraft level. "Up, Greta," he growled. "Get up, get up!" He was furious with himself. He should have expected the leader's wingman, should have been waiting for it. But no one ever seemed to notice him until the last moment. Ludwig shook his head to clear it of the shock. He was not going down like this. Not without taking down that Magician first.
+


                          
But Ludwig could see smoke billowing from the side of his plane. The engine faltered, stuttering as it struggled to maintain power. Ludwig tried to get higher but it was becoming impossible. His plane was flying far too slow. He reached for his mask and turned on the channel. Again, there was only one thing he could do. "Schwarz Leader to Ground Control. I'm hit. My engine is failing. I am going to attempt a landing."
+


                          
"Schwarz Leader, you are over allied territory."
+


                          
"I have no choice." Another hit. His plane jerked to the side and Ludwig wrestled the control to level it once again. It was no good. He was going down. "My left wing has been hit. I need to land immediately."
+


                          
There was a slight pause before Ground Control responded. "Good luck, Schwarz Leader."
+


                          
Ludwig tore his mask from his face and focused on breathing, on keeping the plane straight, on surviving. In this condition, he would not land safely. But if he didn't get down now the plane would soon roll into a deadly tailspin. He maintained a jagging descent, the low squadron forming a line behind him. He paid them no notice. All his strength, all his focus, was on keeping control of a damaged aircraft which was quickly becoming uncontrollable. A shower of sparks flew against the side window. White smoke began to fill the cockpit. His speed increased. He gritted his teeth and tried to maintain focus.
+


                          
But a thousand thoughts and images suddenly ran through his mind. Playing with his grandfather's long white hair as a child. Watching Gilbert wave goodbye as he climbed on a train, neatly dressed in a brand new infantry uniform. And Feliciano: beautiful, strange, wonderful Feliciano. Ludwig's only, his everything. Feliciano running laughing through warm green grass, placing a flower in his jacket, smiling cheerfully for a photograph, gasping beneath him in a hayloft, clutching at his arms and pleading for them to run away together. Ludwig's sight grew dim and blurred from the smoke and he reached across the cockpit for the red flower. "Here you are, Ludwig, you can have this. In Italian flower is 'fiore'!"
+


                          
The ground approached, the wide green field rising up too fast to meet him. Ludwig pulled the plane into landing position, braced himself, and clutched the battered little flower to his chest. At the last second he closed his eyes. "Feliciano..."
+